Sweet Fantasy

The offices of Nelson, Murdock, & Page had started feeling strangely familiar lately. Not intimidating anymore. Warm. Lived in. Foggy’s half finished snacks abandoned on his desk with legal files. Karen’s organized chaos spread across her office. Matt’s office smelling faintly of expensive coffee, paper, and cedar.

You’d spent enough time here now that the people at reception smiled knowingly when you walked in. Which still made your stomach flutter embarrassingly every time. Especially because Matt always reacted the same way when he realized you were there. Immediate softening. Every single time. Today was no different.

The second you stepped into his office and greeted him, Matt looked up from whatever document he’d been reading and his entire expression changed. “There’s my girl.”

Your heart betrayed you immediately. You smiled while setting the coffees you'd brought down on his desk. “Busy?”

“Mm.” Matt leaned back slightly in his chair. “Trying to be.” Which translated roughly to: I would rather pay attention to you. You were becoming dangerously fluent in Matt Murdock.

Karen appeared in the doorway a second later holding folders. “Oh hi, you’re here." Then immediately, “Wait, did you figure out your ren faire outfit yet?” You brightened instantly. “Yes!”

Matt paused mid-sip with his coffee. “Your what?”

Foggy appeared behind Karen like he’d been summoned psychically by the possibility of gossip. “The renaissance fair thing this weekend.” she explained helpfully. Matt turned slowly toward you. “The what thing?” You blinked. “Oh.” You laughed. “I forgot to tell you.”

Matt set his coffee down with suspicious care. That should’ve been your first warning. “The tavern at the renaissance fair hired our bar for a weekend event,” you explained.

“So I’m helping run drinks,” you continued, “It’s themed.” Then excitedly, “Oh wait, I have the outfit pictures guys.” Karen made a noise of delight. Matt’s brows furrowed slightly.

You pulled out your phone while Karen immediately abandoned her paperwork to crowd beside you. “Oh my god,” Karen breathed instantly. Foggy leaned in next. Then loudly, “JESUS CHRIST.”

You burst out laughing, “What?!” Karen looked genuinely impressed. “Babe, this is absurd.”

Matt’s head tilted slightly toward them. Silence. Then, very carefully, “What,” he asked, “does that mean?” Foggy made another strangled sound. Karen tried and failed to sound neutral. “Well.” A pause. “It’s definitely… authentic.”

“Karen.”

“She’s wearing a corset.”

Matt stopped blinking. You looked up innocently. “It’s cute.” Foggy barked out a laugh. Matt’s voice came slower now. “Corset.”

You nodded cheerfully while scrolling through the photos. “It’s like dark green with a brown skirt?” You smiled. “And there’s all these little accessories and jewelry pieces.”

Karen was still staring at the photo. “There’s also basically no top.” You scoffed. “I’m serious.” Karen looked toward Matt sympathetically. “Her boobs are practically airborne.”

Foggy lost it. Matt went terrifyingly quiet and your face burned immediately. “They are not!” Karen turned the phone toward Foggy again. Foggy wheezed. “Buddy, I need you to know she’s one strong gust of wind away from a felony.”

Matt inhaled once through his nose. Slowly. Very slowly. You glanced toward him carefully. Matt sat back in his chair with one hand against his mouth now. Listening. Thinking. Imagining. His jaw flexed once.

You tried to recover. “It’s not even that bad.”

Karen and Foggy immediately, “Yes it is.”

Matt leaned back farther in his chair. Like he needed distance from the conversation for survival. You were trying not to laugh now because his composure was visibly deteriorating in real time. “It’s part of the vibe,” you defended weakly.

“The vibe,” Matt repeated.

You nodded. "And the tavern does this thing where we feed people drinks?” You smiled innocently. “It’s kinda funny.” Silence. Dead silence. Matt turned toward you slowly. “Feed people?"

You realized too late how that sounded. “Well-” You gestured vaguely. “With the tankards?” A laugh escaped you. “And we flirt for tips a little.”

Matt just stared at you. You shifted slightly under the weight of it and your stomach flipped. You tried to act unaffected. “So?” A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You’ll come visit me, right?”

Matt answered instantly. “Obviously.”

Foggy and Karen doubled over laughing. Because Matt hadn't said it casually. He said it like: over my dead body am I letting that happen unsupervised.

You laughed helplessly while Matt rubbed a hand slowly across his jaw. Likely still imagining it. Poor man. Karen finally managed to recover enough to grin at you wickedly. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Matt muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for strength.

The renaissance fair was absolute chaos.

Music echoed from somewhere deeper in the grounds. People shouted over each other in exaggerated accents. Bonfires crackled. Children sprinted past with wooden swords. The entire air smelled like cinnamon, smoke, leather, and ale.

And standing behind the tavern counter in your corset, you were having the time of your life. Your skirt swished around your legs every time you turned. Swooping chains and little charms hanging from your belt chimed softly when you moved. The dark green corset pushed your breasts up so obscenely that you’d stopped being embarrassed about it an hour ago and simply accepted your fate. At this point? Weaponize it.

You’d braided part of your hair back with ribbons and tiny beads, your makeup warmer and smokier than usual beneath the late afternoon light. And every single girl working the tavern had immediately agreed on one thing, the tips were going to be insane.

Unfortunately for Matthew Murdock, they were correct.

You leaned over the bar laughing at something one of the other barmaids said while pouring cider into a tankard, completely unaware of the exact moment Matt arrived. Foggy you heard first. He immediately burst into hysterical laughter. “Oh my GOD.” Karen physically grabbed his arm. “Stop laughing before Matt kills somebody.”

You looked up. And promptly forgot your own name. He’d dressed up. Not fully, but enough. Dark tall boots, a white long sleeve that'd been left unbuttoned at the top, and dark fitted pants. A long charcoal coat was hanging open over broad shoulders. Gorgeous.

His silvered hair was slightly windblown from outside. Light stubble shadowing his jaw. Hands shoved into his coat pockets while he stared in your general direction across the crowded tavern. Like a man witnessing divine punishment. You inhaled sharply. Matt’s head tilted slightly. Then very slowly, his mouth curved.

Foggy leaned toward him immediately. “Buddy, you look like you hunt vampires.” Karen looked delighted as she he glanced between you both. “This is disgusting.” Then to Matt, “You dressed like her dark knight.”

Matt looked entirely unashamed. “She called me her knight first.” Your stomach flipped violently. Oh, he remembered that. Of course he did.

You abandoned the drink station immediately, skirts swishing around your legs while you made your way toward them.

You kissed his cheek immediately and he wrapped an arm around your waist. His voice dropped lower immediately. “Hi, sweetheart.” Your pulse fluttered wildly.

Matt’s hand moved slowly over your waist. Very slowly. Large hand trailing up over the boning in the corset. The neckline. “You,” he said carefully, “appear to be trying to kill me.” You grinned helplessly. “You like it?”

Matt stared at you for one long second. Then quietly, "I’m having a complicated time with it.” You burst out laughing. And Matt’s expression softened instantly at the sound.

One of the tavern workers suddenly shouted your name from behind the bar. “We need another mead run!” You stepped backward dramatically. “Duty calls.”

Matt’s hand caught softly around your wrist before you could leave. The touch alone sent heat spiraling through you instantly. “You’re doing the feeding thing too?” he asked quietly. Oh. Oh he’d been thinking about that.

You smiled innocently. “Maybe.” Matt’s jaw flexed and Karen physically turned away to hide her laughter. You leaned up slightly, lowering your voice. “You jealous, Murdock?”

Matt’s thumb brushed once slowly against your pulse point. “Ask me again in ten minutes.” Your entire stomach flipped.

Then one of the bartenders yelled your name again and you finally escaped before your legs stopped functioning entirely.

Matt stayed. Which unfortunately meant he had a front row seat. To everything.

The tavern was packed now. Crowded shoulder to shoulder with laughing patrons while music and shouting filled the warm air. You slipped effortlessly into performance mode. Flirting. Teasing. Laughing.

Matt listened from a nearby table with Foggy and Karen while nursing a drink he’d barely touched. Or trying not to. Because every few seconds, someone else flirted with you.

A man kissed your hand dramatically while ordering ale. Another tipped extra coins directly into the front of your corset while making you laugh. Matt’s grip tightened audibly around his tankard.

Foggy noticed immediately. “Oh this is incredible.”

“Foggy,” Karen warned through laughter.

“No, no, let him suffer.”

Matt ignored both of them. Completely focused on you. Then it happened. Someone at the bar cheered loudly: “Feed me, barmaid!” Excuse me?

The entire surrounding crowd started chanting immediately. You laughed while grabbing one of the giant tankards. Matt went terrifyingly still.

The man leaned back dramatically while you placed his hands on the shackles hanging from the bar in exaggerated performance. Then, smiling wickedly, you tipped the tankard to his mouth while the crowd cheered around you.

Ale spilled down his chin while you laughed. And then, because the universe hated him, you glanced across the tavern afterward. Still smiling. Still flushed from laughing. And very clearly aware now that he’d been watching the entire thing. He could hear your pulse skip.

He should’ve known better than to sit where he could hear you so clearly. That had been his first mistake. His second mistake was letting Foggy order another round.

Because now you were headed directly toward their table carrying three overflowing tankards while the tavern roared around you. Music. Laughter. Firelight.

And you, God. You were unreal. Your skirts swayed around your legs as you approached, little chains at your waist chiming softly with each step. Matt could hear every detail of you. Your heartbeat, your breathing, the creak of the corset when you leaned over tables. It was psychological warfare.

You stopped beside the table dramatically, slipping fully back into character. “Well, well,” you purred playfully. “What troublemakers have wandered into my tavern?”

Foggy immediately committed to the bit. “M’lady, we seek only drink and refuge.”

“You seek debauchary,” you corrected while setting his ale down. “And could perhaps do with a bath.” Karen burst out laughing. Foggy clutched his chest in mock offense. Then, you turned toward Matt. And your whole expression changed.

Subtly. Not enough for anyone else to fully clock it. But Matt felt it instantly. The softness beneath the teasing. The heat tucked beneath the performance. Your gaze dragged slowly over him beneath your lashes. “My lord,” you murmured.

Matt’s pulse jumped hard enough he physically felt it in his throat. Oh, shit.

You leaned one elbow onto the table near Matt, the neckline of your corset likely becoming an active threat to public safety. Matt very carefully kept his head tilted down. The noise of the tavern seemed to blur strangely around the edges now. You picked up the tankard slowly. Matt realized what was about to happen half a second before everyone else did.

Foggy immediately lost composure. “Oh my GOD she’s doing it.” Karen covered her mouth with both hands.

You smiled sweetly at Matt. “Drink, my lord?”

Matt leaned back slightly in his chair. Not retreating. Bracing. The firelight caught against the dark stubble along his jaw while he looked up at you.

God help him. That smile was trouble. Not because of the corset. Not because of the tavern full of people already watching. Because Matt knew that smile. It was the one you wore whenever you decided to test him.

You stepped closer. Close enough that he caught the familiar scent of your perfume beneath the ale and woodsmoke filling the room. Matt’s hand settled automatically against your hip. Possessive. Steady. Warning.

You ignored it immediately. Of course you did. Your fingers curled beneath his chin. Matt inhaled sharply through his nose. Across the table, Foggy made a sound that suggested he was witnessing a disaster unfold in real time.

Then, without breaking your gaze, you tipped the tankard toward his mouth.

The tavern erupted around you instantly. Cheering. Shouting. Laughter. But Matt barely reacted to any of it. His entire attention stayed fixed on you while he drank.

Ale slid briefly along the corner of his mouth. Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth before you seemed to think better of it. Matt’s grip tightened against your waist. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Enough for you. Enough to feel the tiny hitch in your breath. Christ. You knew exactly what you were doing. Maybe not the full extent of it. But enough to keep leaning into him. Enough to keep smiling that sweet, saccharine, innocent smile.

Across the table, the tavern erupted into cheers and laughter. Matt barely heard any of it. His attention remained fixed on you. On the way your pulse fluttered at your throat and the warmth of your hand.

On the fact that you were standing between his knees in a crowded tavern and somehow seemed completely unaware of how dangerous a game you were playing. Or maybe not unaware. Maybe brave. That possibility was somehow worse. Your fingers lingered after the tankard was empty. And then you murmured, “Good boy.”

Matt went completely still. Jesus. For one long moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you. Listened to the sudden hesitation creeping into your breathing. Felt the subtle shift in your confidence. There it is. The realization. A little late, sweetheart.

Matt had to bite back a laugh. You always did this. You’d spend an entire evening poking at him. Teasing him. Seeing how far you could push. And then the second you got a reaction, the moment you succeeded, you’d look at him like you were shocked he’d reacted at all.

Very quietly, Matt tilted his head toward you. “Careful, princess.” His thumb pressed once against your hip.

A warning. A promise. Maybe both. The way you immediately went still made something warm and deeply satisfied unfurl in his chest. Yeah. You understood now.

By the time your shift finally ended, the fairgrounds had transformed completely.

The setting sun had faded into deep blue twilight while lanterns and torchlight flickered across the pathways in warm gold. Music drifted through the cool evening People danced. Laughed. Shouted over mugs of ale.

And the second you slipped out from behind the tavern counter, you found Matt immediately. He stood near one of the wooden posts outside the tavern entrance, broad shoulders framed in torchlight while he waited with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat. Like he belonged there.

Like he’d stepped directly out of some fantasy novel written specifically to ruin you.

Foggy spotted you first. “There she is.” Then dramatically to Matt, “Your knight’s been brooding for twenty minutes.”

Matt sighed heavily. “Foggy.”

You burst out laughing. Matt’s head turned instantly toward the sound. And just like earlier, his whole expression softened the second he heard you.

Your stomach fluttered embarrassingly. You gathered your skirts and approached dramatically before dipping into an exaggerated curtsy. “My apologies, my lord,” you teased. “Have I kept you waiting?”

Matt went very still. He stepped closer slowly until you could smell cedar and cold night air clinging to his coat. Then he took your hand gently. And right there in front of everyone, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. Slowly. Your heart stopped.

Matt’s voice came low and warm against your skin. “Worth the wait.” You nearly died on the spot.

“Jesus Christ,” Foggy muttered. “You two are becoming unbearable.” Matt looked deeply unbothered. You tried to recover your dignity while your face burned. “Well.” You cleared your throat dramatically. “My shift is over.”

“Thank God,” Matt muttered under his breath. Karen burst out laughing again. You grinned wickedly. “Missed me that much?” Matt’s hand settled automatically against your waist beneath your cloak. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “you spent the last hour paying attention to everyone but me.” Your face burned. “Matt, I was working.”

“I know.”

Which somehow made it worse. You hid your face in his chest immediately. Karen let out an audible awww. “Don’t encourage him,” you groaned.

Matt’s chest shook beneath your cheek. Laughing. The fake pout had lasted approximately seven seconds. God, that sound would kill you someday.

Eventually Foggy and Karen split off toward another part of the fair after dramatic goodbyes and promises to meet up later. Leaving you and Matt finally alone. Well, as alone as two people could be in a packed renaissance fair.

Matt kept one hand anchored at your lower back while you wandered through the lantern lit pathways together. People brushed past constantly. Music echoed from every direction. Somewhere nearby, horses snorted softly from a stable area.

And through all of it, Matt never stopped touching you. A hand at your waist. Your fingers linked together. His thumb brushing absentmindedly across your knuckles. Like he physically couldn’t help himself tonight.

You were still floating from the tavern tips too. Every few minutes you’d excitedly shake the little pouch tied to your belt so the coins jingled. “I made so much money,” you announced proudly.

Matt hummed beside you. “Mhm.”

“I’m serious.” You grinned up at him. “I’m rich now.”

Matt snorted softly. “Dangerous amount of confidence for someone carrying maybe three hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred dollars is a lot!”

“It shouldn’t be.” You narrowed your eyes immediately. “There it is.” Matt looked innocent. “What?”

“The millionaire lawyer thing.” Matt’s mouth curved slightly. You dramatically untied the pouch and waved it at him. “Well lucky for you, my lord, I can finally afford my own trinkets.”

Matt stopped walking instantly. You blinked. He slowly looked down at the pouch in your hand. Then at you. “Excuse me?” Uh oh. You tried not to laugh. “I said-”

“I heard what you said.” Matt stepped closer slowly, voice lowering. “If you think I’m letting you spend your hard earned tavern money while I’m standing right here, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Your stomach flipped instantly. My god. You grinned. “But they’re my tips.”Matt’s hand slid against your waist again. “Correct.” Then calmly, “Put them away.”

You laughed helplessly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” Matt murmured, “feel like a medieval fantasy specifically engineered to bankrupt me.” Your face burned immediately. You tucked the pouch away anyway. Matt looked deeply satisfied afterward. Then he held out his arm toward you with exaggerated formality. “C’mon, princess.” You slipped your arm through his instantly. “Where to, my knight?”

Matt smiled slowly. “Anywhere you want.”

The deeper into the fair you wandered, the more impossible Matt became. At first it was subtle. A little carved trinket you paused to admire for too long suddenly appeared in your hands minutes later. A tiny bottle of perfume oil you’d called pretty was purchased before you’d even fully set it back down.

Eventually you caught on. You stopped abruptly in the middle of a lantern lit pathway and narrowed your eyes at him. Matt immediately smiled.

“You keep buying me things.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Matthew.”

Matt looked entirely unashamed. “You like things.”

“That does not mean you have to buy them.”

Matt’s hand settled automatically against your waist as another crowd passed by. “It does to me.” You burst out laughing. And instantly Matt’s entire expression softened again at the sound. Like it happened against his will every time. Hopeless man.

You kept wandering afterward while musicians played nearby beneath hanging lanterns and torchlight flickered gold against the evening air.

And eventually, you found the crown. It sat near the back of a jewelry stall lined with velvet. Delicate. Not oversized or theatrical. Thin winding metal branches curved together into an almost vine-like shape, tiny garnet stones glinting dark red beneath the lanternlight.

And woven carefully between the metalwork were little dried pomegranate seeds. Your breath caught softly. Matt heard it immediately. “What is it?” You stepped closer slowly. “A crown... It’s beautiful.”

The older woman running the stall smiled knowingly from behind the display. “Ah.” She carefully lifted the piece. “You have a good eye, sweetheart.”

Matt’s hand settled more firmly against your waist as he stepped beside you. You stared at the crown in awe. The garnets glowed crimson in the warm light. Deep red.

The shopkeeper looked between the two of you once. Then smiled slowly. “Persephone’s crown.” The shopkeeper continued warmly, “For the queen of the underworld.”

You glanced at Matt, then looked back toward the crown slowly. Quietly, you murmured, “That would make him Hades.”

Matt inhaled sharply beside you.

The shopkeeper’s smile widened immediately. “Well,” she said gently, “he certainly looks devoted enough.”

You could feel it. Like something deep, primitive, and possessive inside him had just sat up. The old woman carefully held the crown toward him. “Would milord like to place it on her himself?” Your entire body went warm instantly. Matt took the crown, then faced you. And his voice came lower. Softer. “May I?”

You nodded slowly. "Mhm."

Matt took the crown carefully in both hands like something fragile. Precious. Then he stepped closer. The noise of the fair seemed to blur strangely around the edges while he lifted the delicate gold piece toward your head.

His fingers brushed your hair gently. Carefully. One hand settling warm against the side of your neck as he positioned it properly. The garnets caught the lanternlight when he finally lowered his hands. And the look on Matt’s face afterward, like he’d just touched something holy.

The shopkeeper visibly softened. “Perfect fit for his lady.”

Matt just stared at you quietly beneath the lanternlight while his thumb brushed slowly against your jaw. Your face burned hot and you looked away immediately before you combusted. Which only made Matt smile wider.

Naturally he bought the crown immediately. Afterwards, you immediately tucked yourself against his side and kissed his cheek hard enough to make him laugh softly beneath his breath.

Matt reached up to run his fingers over the crown once more, and his fingers lingered briefly in your hair. Eyes dark but soft behind the red lenses. Like some part of him had already decided: mine.

notes: maybe i just wanted an excuse for matt and reader to flirt while dressed in costume? who can say for sure.

i think every time reader implies that matt is the devil without knowing his identity matt dies a little more

"This is a live-in position?" you clarify as you sit at the breakfast bar in his home.

He nods his head, "Yea, um, with my job I have to be away from home a lot. I don't like leaving Lena alone."

You blink, "Well yes, she's six. I wouldn't leave her alone either. That's fine. I'll just take Saturday afternoons until Monday mornings off."

The man before you frowns, "What if I need you to work weekends?"

"We can discuss overtime, Mr Blackwell. But I will be taking weekends. I'm being generous with Saturday mornings," you say with a frown.

His frown deepens but he nods.

"Lena's mother would do a grocery run-"

"Mr Blackwell, I'm not a maid. Of course, I'll cook for Lena. But I don't clean, I don't cook, I don't grocery shop."

"If I paid more?" he asks then.

You cock your head to the side, "If you paid more, then we can discuss that, of course."

So that's how you end up working for Barry Blackwell.

You don't mind living in the house by the beach. You get Lena up every morning, you make breakfast, bring her to school. You go clean the house when she's away, even do the damn grocery shopping with the wad of money he leaves on top of the microwave each week. When you pick Lena up from school, you always bring her to the beach.

"Daddy never takes me to the beach," she tells you one day as you eat ice cream.

Yea, you gather. You really don't like her dad. But he's rarely at home like he said.

"Uncle Pope brings me," she says. "We go to the swings."

You stroke her curls and smile, "Your uncle? Does he live around here?"

Lena shrugs, "I think so. Sometimes he's at Grandma Smurf's. But he was away for a really long time. I don't know where. But he's nice."

One morning after you drop Lena to school, you walk into the house to find a blonde woman sitting in the kitchen. You jump when you see her. Nobody has been in the house bar you and Lena since Baz left at the start of the week.

She sizes you up and down, "Where's my son?"

"Mr Blackwell?" you ask.

You've never seen this woman before. Baz told you not to let anyone into the house when he was away. Fuck. The older woman softens at your tone.

"Who are you exactly?" she asks, pursing her lips as she eyes you up.

"I'm Lena's nanny," you explain. "Mr Blackwell hired me a few weeks ago. He needed the help after his wife left. I just dropped her at school. Sorry, he never mentioned any family."

She frowns at your words, "Well that would be why I haven't seen my grandbaby in so long. I didn't know what Baz was doing with her. But he's got a pretty girl like you taking care of her.

"You can call me Smurf. Everyone else does. How about you bring Lena over to my house after school?"

"Oh, sure. I, well, don't know where you live," you confess.

Smurf smiles, "Well why don't you come over now. And we can go get Lena together. We have a pool," she tells you.

You brighten up immediately, "Oh! I was trying to teach Lena to swim. She loves to go to the beach but she can't swim. You think I could teach her in your pool?"

Smurf is delighted by the idea. Let's you gather your and Lena's things before driving you over to the Cody house. You've never been to this area of Oceanside. You don't expect the huge house. And you don't expect to meet Smurf's other sons.

Craig and Deran are making noise by the pool when you walk in. Smurf just ushers you into the kitchen.

"Have you had breakfast?" she asks you.

"Um, no I usually eat after I come back from dropping off Lena," you respond.

Smurf immediately starts cooking for you. You hate being doted on like that. You haven't been in so long. So you try to help but Smurf tells you to sit.

"Can I make you coffee at least?" you finally ask.

Smurf allows this, and you get to work with making fresh coffee for them. You look up when you hear heavy footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat when you look up to see a man storming into the kitchen handsome, auburn hair, hazel eyes and sun-kissed skin.

"Who's that?" he asks Smurf, ignoring you.

"Baz hired a nanny for Lena," his mother responds, introducing you.

He frowns as he sizes you up, "What did he do that for? We can take care of her."

Smurf scowls at him, at the suggestion. She doesn't want him to say something stupid in front of this stranger. She puts her arm around you, squeezing you gently.

"This is my eldest boy, Andrew," she tells you. "He's a bit rough around the edges but I promise, he's a sweetheart underneath it all. Now you go eat your breakfast while I speak to him."

You do as you're told. A part of you knows better than to go against what this woman says. It's a gut feeling. And you don't go against gut feelings.

When Smurf leaves you and Lena back to Baz's, Smurf grips your wrist, stopping you from getting out of her car.

"Let's not tell Baz about this visit. I think it's best if we just keep it between us," she says.

You nod your head. You're not stupid enough to disagree with her. And anyway, it's just swimming lessons.

Since Pope learned about you, he knew he needed to keep an eye on you. He spent a week following you. Watching as you brought Lena to school. Where you do your grocery shopping. He watches you when you go to the beach before you have to collect Lena. He likes watching how your body moves in the water when you go for a swim. He tries to ignore how his body reacts to you when you walk out of the sea, water sliding down your body.

You have no idea about Pope Cody. One morning, when you go to wake Lena up to get her ready for the day, you go into her room, and she's not there. Your heart drops. She's not watching TV. She's not in the bathroom. You search every inch of the house.

You're about to call Baz when the door opens and Lena walks in. You rush over to her, falling to your knees and cupping her little face in your hands.

"Where were you?" you ask. "You know you can't just wander outside on your own."

"I wasn't alone," she says as the door opens wider.

You look up from where you're kneeling on the ground to see a man come in. Andrew. The man who you met briefly at Smurf's house.

"Uncle Pope brought me to swings."

You lean back on your kneels with a frown as you look at him. He stares you down and you can't help the way your heart races. You blame it on the stress of Lena going missing.

"You shoulda woke me up," you say to her, stroking her cheeks again before standing up.

Andrew, Pope, looks at you. Cocking his head to the side.

"Where's Baz?" he asks, his voice rough.

Lena answers, "He's away..."

"And is he away a lot?" Pope asks, his eyes flicking to you.

"Lena, can you get ready for school, sweetie. I'll make you breakfast in a second," you say.

As soon as Lena rushes off you turn your attention to Pope.

"You can't just break in here and take off with her," you tell him. "I thought she was kidnapped. Mr Blackwell woulda killed me!"

Pope sizes you up, "She's my niece. I can see her whenever I want."

You look at him like he's crazy. He has to be crazy. It's barely 6am and he thought he'd pay a visit?!

"I knew Baz wasn't around. I was worried about Lena. I thought she was here alone."

"And you didn't call your brother?" you ask, folding your arms in annoyance.

"He didn't answer. Where is he?" he retorts.

You shrug as you turn to the kitchen, Pope's eyes fall to the swell of your ass under your sleep shorts.

"He told me he travels for work. Is that not true?" you ask as you pull out bacon from the fridge.

Pope just sniffs in return. He knows his brother is probably with Lucy in Mexico. Leaving his daughter with a stranger.

"You're a nanny?" he asks then.

"Yea, I worked in Europe as an au pair. I've done all my courses. Everything is above board, if that's what you're tryin' to get at," you say as you start making breakfast.

"And you live here? With Baz?"

You shake your head quickly.

"I'm a live-in nanny. But I don't live with Baz," you say, maybe a bit harsher than usual. "You want coffee?"

Pope's lips twitch, as close to a smile as you'll get. He likes you.

You don't expect Pope to still be there after you get home from dropping Lena to school. But he's there, cleaning the kitchen.

"Lena really likes you," you say. "When she goes to her grandmother's she's always asking if you'll be there. I'm teaching her how to swim. I can't believe she's a Cali girl and she can't swim!"

Pope just shrugs. He's not much of a talker.

"Look, I have no problem with you seeing her but I'd appreciate if you told me first."

He takes another minute before looking at you.

"So I need your number," you say offering him your phone.

That's how you end up texting Pope Cody.

Pope Cody: Hello. I can pick Lena up from school today. I'm in the area.

Pope Cody: Good Morning. I can take Lena for breakfast, she likes a pancake place on the way to school.

Pope Cody: Hello. I made too much spaghetti, I can bring some over for Lena and you if you'd like.

You smile whenever your phone vibrates. You like talking to Pope. Even if it is just about Lena.

Whenever Baz is there, the texts don't come in. Sometimes Pope will come over to hang out with Baz. But you never get to say too much to him as Baz suggests you take Lena somewhere else.

Although one day you walk in as Baz snarls in Pope's face, "No one is ever gonna have a kid with you."

Pope can't meet your eyes as he walks past you to leave.

You spend your Saturday afternoons and Sundays out of Oceanside. Unless Baz has requested that you stay. He pays you in cash beforehand, and you just spend the weekend with Lena. Sometimes at Smurf's. Sometimes with Pope.

You're on the beach one Saturday with Lena, Pope is pushing her on the swings and you are watching on. A woman comes up to you and smiles.

"Your little girl is so cute and your husband is so good with her," she says. "I have to drag my husband out with them."

You should correct her, but you don't. You want people to think that you're a family. It would be nice...

Soon you find yourself texting Pope, not just about Lena.

You: I watched a documentary about wolves I think you'd like

You: I was going to go to the beach tomorrow did you wanna come? Deran said you used to like surfing!

Baz comes in all flustered one afternoon. He hasn't been home in almost a month. It's the longest that he's been away. He rushes over to Lena and she's so happy to see her Daddy. You go back to cleaning as she babbles about everything that has happened since he's been away. You smile.

She's a great kid. One of the best you've taken care of.

You hear Baz ask her to repeat herself and your head shoots up.

"She's teaching me how to swim in Grandma Smurf's pool," you hear her say.

It's not her fault. She's just a kid. And even though you had told her not to say anything about Pope or Smurf, you can't blame her for spilling details. But the colour drains out of your face nevertheless. Especially when you hear Baz telling her to go to her room. She does as she's told.

You continue cleaning as you hear Baz's footsteps storm into the kitchen. He grabs your hair and pulls you backwards. He's pressed against your back and you're looking up at him, fear coursing through your body.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in the house. And now I hear Smurf has been sniffing around. And you're bringing my kid around to her house," he hisses at you.

You whimper as his grip on your hair tightens.

"She's her grandmother. I didn't think-" you being before Baz slams your head against a cupboard.

"Yea, you didn't fuckin' think. When I tell you something, you fuckin' listen. You stupid bitch," he snarls, hitting your head against the cupboard again.

You're bracing yourself for another slam, but you're suddenly falling to the ground. Baz has been hauled off you. You collapse. You turn to see Pope dragging him off you. He punches him once before pushing him to the other side of the room.

You whimper when you hear footsteps coming towards you but it's not Baz. Pope scoops you up into his arms and carries you out of the house.

"Lena," you breathe shakily.

You don't wanna leave her alone in that house.

"She'll be okay. Baz isn't gonna hurt her," Pope promises as he brings you to his car.

He puts you into the passenger side and drives you to his home. You've never been to Pope's house before, even though you spend most days with him now. You start to get out of the car, but Pope once again gathers you in his arms, bringing you into the house.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks, his face a mask of anger.

He places you down on the couch. He strokes the cuts on your face, he can already see where the bruises will come up. Baz at least hadn't broken your nose.

"Let me clean you up," he breathes after you nod that you're okay.

You're shaken but it wasn't the first time that you've gotten hit. It's just been a while. Fuck, you thought you were over that stage of your life. Shouldn't have gone to fuckin' Oceanside to mind some kid.

"You promise Lena'll be okay?" you ask him when he finally returns with water and cotton pads.

Pope grunts as he cleans you up, "I wouldn't have left her there if I thought Baz would hurt her...I'll get her in the morning and bring her here. Is that okay?"

"Thank you, Andrew," you say softly. "You didn't have to do any of this. And thanks for being there."

You don't query how he knew you needed his help. You're just glad he was there. His large hands are still holding your face and his rough thumb slides over your lower lip. He is well aware that he shouldn't do this. But he can't help himself. You gently kiss the pad of his thumb, your eyes never leaving his.

He brushes his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. His eyes never leave yours. Pope has never been good with eye contact but he holds yours for what seems like hours. He doesn't want to push you. Not after what Baz did to you. But you're the one who finally breaks and presses your lips against his. Pope tentatively kisses you back but when he hears your little whimper, he's a goner. His hands drop from your face to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You've been waiting for months to run your fingers through his auburn curls. You tug at his curls as you deepen the kiss. You're suddenly dry-humping with Pope Cody on his couch like two teenagers. And you couldn't stop if you tried.

That is until his hands slide up your shirt and grasp your tits. You moan into his mouth as his rough palms press against the swell of your breasts, squeezing and releasing. He pulls your shirt over your head, breaking the kiss for just a second to do so. He doesn't even undo your bra, just pulls the cups down so your breasts fall free. He flips you onto your back. He kisses down your neck and then to your tits. He spends what feels like hours laving at your nipples. Whichever tit isn't in his mouth is being played with by his rough hands. Your arousal is all but rolling down your thighs when he finally pulls away from your tits.

His eyes are so blown out they're almost black. He pulls your jean shorts and panties down in one move. He groans at the sight of you.

"Lemme see that pretty pussy, baby," he tells you as he spreads your legs. You've never been this turned on in your life.

"Andrew Cody, if you don't fuck me right now," you whine out.

Your whines only result on him smacking you hard on your weeping cunt. Your back arches off the couch. Fuck you need him.

"Now lemme see that pussy."

Pope crawls between your legs, getting eye level down with your pussy.

"So pretty," he praises as he spreads you open, his eyes scanning you. He blows on you, causing you to shudder. His thumb teases your clit watching how you clench around nothing.

"So, so pretty," he praises.

Finally he presses kisses up your thighs and eventually presses his tongue inside you.

"Fuck, yes, right there," you whine out in pure need, grinding against his face.

Pope decides he needs to have you ride his face next. But not yet. He wants to play some more. He focuses his attention on your clit, hooking your legs over his wide shoulders. And within just a handful of ministrations, you're coming undone over his tongue. Your orgasm hits like a freight train. You're painfully turned on. You've been wound up for so long. And Pope Cody is just so happy to help you let loose.

Once you come down from your high, you pounce on him, pulling his clothes off. Desperate to see him. He chuckles softly as he helps you take his clothes off.

You follow his lead, kissing over the freckles on his neck, down his chest and stomach. He tenses under your movements and you smirk, nipping over his abs. His cock is leaking, standing to attention. And he's fucking huge. You should have expected that.

"Wanna fuck my face, daddy?" you coo up at him.

That name sends Pope wild, he grabs your hair and guides you down onto him. Once you've gotten used to him, he starts rocking his hips up. He holds onto you as he starts fucking into your mouth just like you asked.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Shit," he grunts after just a handful of thrusts. "I can't take this anymore. I need to be inside you. I need to fuck that pretty pussy of yours."

Pope grips you, flipping you back onto your back so he's on top of you again. He teases your clit with the head of his cock, smirking as you start to squirm.

"You want daddy's cock, huh? You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?" he growls in your ear.

You nod desperately, dumbly. Finally he's pressing inside you, inch by inch. You lock your legs around his hips as he finally bottoms out.

"Just like heaven, baby girl," he breathes in your ear.

He should be gentle, sweet, slow, after what Baz did to you. But he's desperate. So he starts jerking his hips in and out of you. The snap of skin on skin fills the room. Your pussy is so wet you can hear it just as well. You're so desperate for him.

"You gonna cum on daddy's cock?" he breathes as he fucks you. His hands palm at your tits with each thrust.

And as if on command, you cum again. You soak him and Pope looks victorious. But he's not finished with you yet. He pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and press inside you again.

"Fuck, so big, daddy," you whine for him as he pounds into you.

Pope kisses over your neck and down your spine, as best as he can from this angle. He buries his face into your neck as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over again. Your eyes roll back in your head as your third orgasm hits you.

This time you clench so tightly over his cock, Pope can't move. Your cunt literally milks his cock, forcing his orgasm out of him. He hasn't cum in so long that his release his hot and thick. It starts sliding out of you as your abused pussy can't take it all.

And Pope, you hates mess, marvels at the sight. After you've both come down from your highs, he gathers you in his arms.

"Sorry...was that too much?" he breathes.

You shake your head, "No. It was perfect. Needed it. Needed you."

"I can sleep out here," he says suddenly.

You look at him in shock, "Oh no baby. I wanna sleep right next to you. What if I need daddy's cock in the middle of the night?"

Pope gives you a wolfish grin as he kisses you again.

Baz thinks everything is alright when he wakes up the next morning and sees that Lena is already gone to school. But then he realises that all your shit is gone. And he sees red.

He drives straight to Smurf. Planning on spreading some bullshit about the nanny. Some sly bitch you tried to swindle him. He walks into the house, crocodile tears at the ready so mommy can fix his mess.

He frowns when he sees Pope sitting on the couch looking like a fucking king and you curled into his side. He's running his hand up and down your arm as the cuts and bruises Baz left on your face are on display.

"Baz," Smurf tuts when she sees him. "We need to work on your temper."

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra @joelmillrenthusiast @abbotaes

You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”

“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.

Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.

“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”

Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”

You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.

God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.

Handsome. Not rugged.

Competent. Doubtful.

Caring. Well, caring enough.

“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.

“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?” 

The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —

“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.

He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”

His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat. 

Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”

“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?

“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost. 

“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.

“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.

Jack huffs. “Just go.”

You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.

Well.

Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.

As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.

“Penlight. Incoming.”

You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.

You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.

The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.

Don't objectify him. Don't objectify him. Don't objectify him.

Fuck it. Too late for that. 

“So…” the man begins.

“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.

“Nick seems like a good guy.”

“Noah.”

“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”

You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.

“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”

“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”

A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.

“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.

“Yes, you just sai —”

“Only care about yours.”

That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.

Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.

You quickly regain your senses to retort.

“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.

The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”

You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.

Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”

"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."

"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.

"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.

"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."

He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”

“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after. 

“She prefers lattes, by the way.”

2

Bzzzzzzz 

“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”

Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.

Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today. 

“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.

“Yolanda, you listen to music?”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”

Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second. 

“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”

Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.

“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.

“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”

Huh, Strange. 

***

The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —

Bzzzzzzzzz.

You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”

The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.

You hate loud. So much.

You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.

Look at you being fiscally responsible. 

“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you. 

Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.

“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys. 

“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.

“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks. 

In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.

You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.

Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”

“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”

Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”

“Only women?”

“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”

“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush. 

In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face. 

You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."

“Oh, I tried.” 

You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”

“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —

“Did he forget his Roblox password?”

You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.

“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.

Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”

You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.

You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.

You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.

You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.

Does he want you to hold…?

“Your phone, nurse.”

Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.

“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”

His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.

“You're not a teenager.”

“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.

Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.

Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.

“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.

He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”

With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.

Kid. 

You need a chair. 

3

“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.

“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.

Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.

You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.

“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.

Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”

“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.

Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.

“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”

You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.

“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.

“How much is a while?”

This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.

“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.

“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.

It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.

You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left. 

“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.

“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”

Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.

You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear. 

Is nobody watching this?

You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.

His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.

“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair. 

Oh. Oh. OH.

“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.

Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.

You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.

***

You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.

“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.

“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”

“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.

Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.

“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”

“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”

“Thanks, sir.”

A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”

“Hm?”

“Where he took you. Nick.”

“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.

“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”

“What?”

He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.

“I'm an anything person, really.”

Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.

“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.

Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.

“I know.”

He says your name.

Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.

Please say my name again.

“I know, kid.”

“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another. 

You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.

You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.

By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.

“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”

Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.

You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though. 

Desperation.

You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.

+1

“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.

You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.

The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”

“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.

Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.

Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.” 

For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.

No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.

You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier. 

Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.

Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?

As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.

Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”

The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.

9 missed calls from Noah.

“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.

“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.

“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”

“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.

“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”

You take a deep breath.

“What do you want?”

“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”

“No.”

“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”

That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.

“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears. 

When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.

You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”

“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.

You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.

This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!

Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.

You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”

The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.

“Jesus, Jack.”

“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.

Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.

“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.

“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”

“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”

“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.

“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.

“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.

In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.

“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”

He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.

“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.

“I know that. Do you?”

“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.

“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.

Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.

Nurse, there's people that are dying.

“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.

“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”

Sweetheart.

“You're killing me.” 

“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders. 

A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”

You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.

The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.

“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.

Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.

“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.

Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.

“I asked you something, kid.” 

You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes. 

And, oh.

His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.

He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.

“You can continue yelling at me now.”

In and out. Deep breath.

“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.

“As I said —”

“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.

A pause.

“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

“Jac —”

“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”

His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.

“Me? What about me?”

He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”

You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip. 

He thinks that?

Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.

“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.

He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.

“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.

“What? You're my senior, you're older —”

He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.

“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."

You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.

You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.

You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.

“Why haven't you sent it?”

“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”

Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.

“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”

With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.

His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”

Deep breath. In and out.

You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow. 

Send. 

You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. 

You did that. You.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.

He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.

But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”

“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.

“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.

“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”

You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.

Fuck.

Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.

Just as you try to move your lips against his —

“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle. 

“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.

His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt. 

“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.

“That's a lot.”

“What can I say? I like paying for things.”

His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.

Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later. 

“One hand, wow.” 

“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”

He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.

He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.

You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.

“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.

“Yes, doctor.”

He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his. 

“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.

“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.

“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.

“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.

“Yes, doctor”

“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.

Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.

Sure, you had graduated first in your class and picked up respect wherever you went, but nothing ever helped with the feeling of anxiety and dread that would fill your body during unknown social situations.

You remember the first day of training with Maverick. You had sat in the back, no one joining your table. You watched as the other pilots talked and shared looks with each other, like they had all known each other for years.

Coming into the military as a woman was hard enough, but by the end of your time at TOPGUN, you had soared above your commanding officer's expectations. During the last week of training, you got the order to become a reserve pilot for an upcoming mission. While you shook as you held the paper, your mentor patted you on the back and assured you that he had made the right recommendation and you would do just fine.

What no one had expected were the three enemy aircrafts that trailed after the team of aviators. You remember the buzz over your headset; you can still recall the words and how your heart jumped at the command.

"Reserve one, report to hanger one. Requesting immediate backup."

You remember how you flexed your fingers before steering in the direction of the take-off strip. How you breathed deeply as you pulled up into the air. How you didn't dare blink as you spotted the enemy aircrafts ahead of you.

You did your job right; it was evident in the way that two of the planes peeled off to come after you.

It truly was a dogfight once they circled around to surround your jet, but somehow you had managed to outmaneuver them, forcing them to eject.

Touching down on the tarmac, you were surrounded by cheers and hands grabbing at you. It was only natural that you landed the name Lucky from the senior pilots on the squad.

Still, now you were here. Surrounded by older pilots once again. No one from your class. No one you recognized.

It was the last round of training before the end of the day. You still hadn't flown yet. Instead, you watched as different teams walked to and from the tarmac, each coming back rubbing their arms and shoulders.

You had sat near a man with glasses, who had sent you a kind smile when you had first walked in. It seemed like the most logical choice to stay by his side for the majority of the day.

While you hadn't spoken to him, Bob watched you closely. You seemed nervous, but not unprepared. Your fingers bunched on your flight suit every few minutes, and you closed your eyes every time Maverick's voice rang out over the radio, announcing a kill.

Bob watched as you bit your bottom lip raw, the skin splitting in the middle by the afternoon. He told himself to look away, but couldn't help but be drawn back to the sight as you licked the now raw skin.

When Maverick called your name, along with Reuben "Payback" Fitch and Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, you shot straight up from your seat. You shook both the men's hands as they smiled at you, but you didn't miss the look of disbelief they flashed each other when they thought you weren't looking.

"Alright, let's see what you got!" Maverick's voice crackled through the comms as you took a soothing breath in.

You cleared your throat before talking. "Um, Payback, Fanboy, stay at my six until we find Maverick. I'll watch north and east for the time being. Over."

"Copy that," a voice sounded as you began to circle the area.

This was good. This was great. You were doing well so far. You had a great team, and you trusted them. Well, you didn't know them, but still, you trusted them. That thought alone helped quell your nerves just a bit.

Down at the base, Jake laughed as your voice rang through the radio.

"Jesus, she sounds like a frightened baby deer. We should call her Bambi, not Lucky," he joked, earning a few hums and laughs from the other men in the room.

"Shut up, Bagman. She's been in the air all of five seconds," Phoenix defended.

This just made the man laugh harder. Nat shook her head and looked to her new WSO with a frown. But when she did, she spotted a scowl on the kind man's face.

"She'll be fine," Nat spoke quietly to him, but Bob just nodded as his face hardened further.

"I really don't like that guy," he confessed to Phoenix, earning a chuckle.

From your peripheral vision, you spotted a black blur. Something that sends full-body chills down your spine.

"Maverick spotted, four o'clock. Breaking into Delta Whisky formation. Over," your voice called out.

"Good catch, falling into formation now," Payback replied, following your jet closely.

Just a Maverick sped up to your right side, you and Payback fell back, cutting your engines, giving you a full view of Maverick's jet in front of your noses.

"Engage, engage," you ordered. Soon Payback's jet was breaking left while you curved right, surrounding Maverick.

But the older aviator pulled up before you could get a clean shot.

"Come on!" you groaned, wracking your brain for ways to catch Maverick off guard.

Suddenly, he was pulling the same maneuver on you, falling freely in the air and painting a target on your backs.

Without thinking, you pulled up into the air. The bright California sun in front of you, blinding you a bit.

"Whoa, Lucky, what the hell are you doing?" Fanboy called out as you continued to pull up.

"Drop back, don't lose sight of Maverick," you ordered, ignoring the tone of his voice.

Sure enough, Maverick took the bait, chasing after you. "Scared, Lucky? Didn't take you as someone who ran from danger."

His voice made you huff. The pressure made your skull sink further into the back of your seat and your breathing became more labored.

But just as quickly as Maverick had caught up to you, he had lost you all the same. The sun now glaring through his windshield.

The beeping of a tone sounded through his jet as he laughed.

"Clever, nice work," he told you, spotting your jet in his rearview.

Bob smiled brightly at you when you had touched back down on the tarmac. You hadn't quite met his eyes, but the little glances you sent his way were more than enough.

"Time to celebrate!" Payback called out, hands coming down to shake your shoulders. "Guess you are lucky after all."

જ⁀➴

You sit with Bob on a sandy blanket, watching the rest of the squad run around the beach and swim in the ocean. Leaning into his shoulder, Bob runs a soothing hand up and down your thigh.

"Having a good day?" he asks, sunglasses dipping as he looks at your flushed face. You weren't usually one to drink, but the watermelon margarita mix that Penny offered today made your eyes light up.

Bob laughs as you nod, sipping on your drink, eyes blinking lazily. It had to be your third drink of the day, something that made you pliable to his touch.

As his fingers comb through your hair, you hum, leaning closer into his touch.

When Maverick announced that you would be staying as a permanent fixture in San Diego, Bob had taken the opportunity to finally ask you out. He knew military relationships were hard, especially if you weren't stationed together. But this news, combined with the growing swell of emotions he had for you, pushed him to confess his feelings.

He had been a perfect gentleman since. Always opening the door for you and driving you both everywhere. As your relationship progressed, he started to break the physical barrier by guiding you through crowded areas with a warm hand on your back or pressing sweet kisses on your hairline when he saw you in the morning before training. It was new, but not unwelcome.

You had first bonded, truly bonded, when Maverick had taken the squad out to the beach to play football. When everyone around you began stripping their shirts off, your hands stayed glued to your sides.

"Not ready to get your first California sunburn?" a voice sounded next to you.

Whipping around, you saw Bob applying sunscreen across his arms, his fingers rubbing the white cream into the firm muscles.

"Something like that, yeah," you told him sheepishly, trying to look anywhere but his hands.

"Yeah, it's a bit intense. Here," he said, holding out the bottle, "I have more than enough to share."

Your fingers brushed his as you grabbed the bottle. "Thanks." You gave him a small smile as you began applying the creamy mixture to your arms and legs.

From there on, it seemed like Bob was always looking out for you.

You felt a little sluggish during training? He was by your side with a granola bar and a sports drink from the vending machine.

You ran out of your drink at the Hard Deck? He was handing you another without you having to ask.

You were anxious after a particularly hard day? He stood outside the locker rooms and walked you to your car, only letting you go home after you assured him you were okay.

But all these small moments spiraled into something more just a mere week after the uranium mission had ended.

Maverick and Penny hosted the squad for a celebratory barbecue, everyone bringing drinks and dishes to contribute to the large spread. Bob found you in the kitchen prepping with Penny, helping her plate things that were coming out of the oven and chop garnishes, even as she tried to shoo you away.

You had been laughing at something she said when the knife in your grasp slipped, coming down to draw blood from your finger.

He registered the look on your face before you could even wince, standing up from his place on the couch to make his way over to you.

Bob cradled your hand near his chest, inspecting it thoroughly before guiding you towards the guest bathroom. His large hand held yours as you ran it under the sink, warm water soothing the cut and washing away the blood.

"Will you sit?" he gestured towards the lip of the tub as he dug through Penny's cabinet for a first aid kit.

It wasn't until he settled between your legs, dropping to his knees so you wouldn't have to crane your neck to look at him, that you realized the position the both of you were in. His face was so close to yours, you could almost feel his breath fanning across your cheeks. One hand found your calf, fingers pressing lightly into the muscle to steady himself, while the other dug through the first aid kit to grab the right supplies. And his chest was pressed up against your knees, almost crowding you, but instead it felt like he was just trying to assure you that he was right there for you.

Like he sensed you looking at him, his eyes found you. You hadn't meant to, but your eyes dropped down to his lips for less than a second.

But it had been enough for Bob, who moved to hold your jaw in his strong hand. When you fluttered your eyes shut and began to lean into his touch, he pressed his lips against yours.

He felt you smile a few seconds into the kiss, something that made his heart beat wildly. With a squeeze to your waist, he pulled away reluctantly. When he saw the confused look on your face, he moved to stroke your cheek.

"Gotta clean this up first, okay? Then I'll give you another kiss."

His words made your cheeks flush, but you just nodded and let him work.

"Earth to Lucky, you okay, baby?" Bob's words snap you out of your memories.

"Yeah, sorry. Just thinking," you say, smile on your face as he nods and kisses your forehead lightly.

The day was like any other. Jake and Bradley are running circles around themselves, entertaining everyone on the squad. Phoenix and Javy are dipping their toes in the ocean while sipping on beers. Mickey and Reuben are tossing a football up and down the beach. And you and Bob are sitting and enjoying the sun and the slight breeze of salty ocean air.

"Alright, lovebirds, up and at 'em. Shirts and skins," Maverick calls from the water.

Bob grumbles at this. After telling you about the horrible burn he got his week stationed out in California, you haven't blamed him for not taking his shirt off, even if it did mean you missed out on seeing his toned body. You never took yours off either, but Bob had never pushed for the reason, instead always offering to double-check your sunscreen application. You always giggled at this, knowing it was an excuse for him to run his fingers up and down your body.

"Split up, you two. I don't want a repeat of last week," Maverick says as you approach the group.

"You should've instated a no-dating policy, Mav," Rooster teases, shit-eating grin on his face. The others laugh at the thought of last week's game when you and Bob had become too distracted with each other, leading to him being laid out on the sand as Javy plowed into him.

"Come over here, Lucky. Never lost a game with you on our team," Jake calls, wagging a finger in your direction, beckoning you over. You nod, not thinking much of it, tugging off your T-shirt to join the skins, leaving you in your denim shorts and bikini top.

As you line up, mentally preparing yourself for a game of football after three drinks, you meet Bob's eyes and smile immediately. Just as Jake is about to hike the ball, a voice calls out from behind you.

"Whoa, Lucky! I didn't know that was why you had your call sign."

Reuben's teasing didn't go unnoticed by the group, all of them sharing confused looks.

For a brief moment, blood rushes to your head as the comment sobers you up. Your hands slap to cover your lower back as you yelp and look in the man's direction.

"Lucky, what's wrong?" Bob calls out from across you. When you send him a panicked look, he immediately rushes over to your side.

"Wait a minute, Bob hasn't seen this either?" Reuben asks, almost doubling over in laughter now.

You snap over to look at him as Bob's hands find your hips. "No, Reuben! No one knows except my old squad. It was a dumb, drunk mistake. Just like this," you groan, hands still not moving from their position.

"Baby?" Bob asks in a low voice so only you could hear, genuine worry on his face as he looks to you for answers.

You look around and see the rest of the squad looking at you, too. It makes you want to crawl up into a ball right on the beach.

Meeting Bob's gaze again, he thinks you almost look scared. It's only further confirmed when you speak again, "Don't be mad, okay?"

He nods his head vigorously as you bite hard at your bottom lip. Finally, your hands drop, and you turn around to show him your now exposed back.

What he sees makes a furious blush spread up from his throat to his cheeks, painting him in a shade very close to cherry red.

A four-leaf clover surrounded with small ribbons and other smaller clovers covers a sliver of your lower back, right in between where your dimples rest. The ink in perfect contrast with your otherwise blank skin, grabbing his attention immediately.

You look over your shoulder to see his reaction and swallow when you see the open-mouthed look he's giving you, not even tearing his eyes away for a moment to meet your gaze.

Bob swallows hard.

The tattoo wasn't what shocked him.

Well, it was. A little.

But mostly it was the fact that after a few months of dating, countless mornings, movie nights, beach trips, and stolen kisses, he'd somehow never seen it.

"You have a tattoo?" he finally manages. His voice coming out much higher than intended.

The squad erupts.

"A tattoo?" Fanboy shouts.

"On Lucky?" Phoenix laughs, like she can't believe it's true.

"No way." Jake looks at you, downright delighted. "Oh, this is the best day of my life."

You groan at them, your stomach sinking further at their jests. "I hate all of you."

"No, no, no," Hangman says, pointing dramatically. "You don't get to drop a surprise lower-back tattoo into the middle of football and then act like we're the problem."

"Agreed," Rooster chimes in.

Before you can speak again, you're drawn to your boyfriend, who looks personally betrayed, not hiding his puppy dog eyes very well. "You didn't tell me."

You turn toward him with a nervous look. "It never came up."

His brows furrow at this, eyes immediately dropping back to the tattoo. "It definitely should've come up."

The redness spreading across his face only makes everyone laugh harder.

"Bob is malfunctioning," Phoenix announces, hand coming up to her eyes to wipe away the tears.

"I am not," he defends, still not looking anywhere but your skin.

"You've been staring at her back for thirty seconds," Bradley teases as the squad laughs in agreement.

"I have not," he mumbles quieter this time.

"Thirty-five now," Fanboy adds.

You bury your face in your hands. "Can someone please kill me?"

"Nope," Maverick says from the middle of the group. "This is too entertaining." The older pilot folds his arms and grins as you send him a look of disdain.

"So what's the story?" Jake asks, football now tucked neatly under his arm. The rest of the squad looks to you expectantly as you just shake your head.

"No."

"No? You can't say no! You've derailed our whole afternoon," Jake argues back.

"Or you could just act like it's any old tattoo. Is it really that big of a deal?" you sass back, eyes rolling at his ask.

"Is Lucky with a four-leaf clover tattoo on her lower back a big deal? Uh, yeah, I think so," Jake says, gesturing for everyone to agree with him.

When they do, you look to your boyfriend once more. His eyes find yours, and you silently plead for him to save you. Instead, he sends you a small look, shock still on his face.

"I'd like to hear this, too," he says as the squad whoops triumphantly. You narrow your eyes at the man, silently mouthing traitor as he looks as innocent as ever.

"Fine!"

The beach falls silent instantly at your voice.

You cross your arms, already bracing for more ridicule. "I was twenty-one."

Jake immediately doubles over laughing, "I already know this is going to be good."

"Shut it, Seresin!" you snap as he just laughs harder. "It was the night of my TOPGUN graduation. The squad I flew with earlier that week came out to celebrate me, and we may or may not have gotten a little tipsy."

"You mean drunk?" Bradley teases as you send him a death glare.

"Okay, yes, drunk." You put your hands up like you're being interrogated. "And we might have started a competition about who could drink the most in one sitting."

"But you're a lightweight," Bob says next to you as the squad laughs.

"Hey," you pout, not really defending yourself but still a little offended by his observation.

You huff before continuing.

"The loser had to get a tattoo chosen by everyone else."

The beach exploded.

"No!"

"Absolutely not."

"You lost?"

"I lost."

Jake nearly falls over, hands reaching out for support. "You're telling me Lucky got a lucky tattoo because she lost a competition?"

You cover your face, feeling your cheeks burn as you recall the night. "Yes."

The laughter becomes deafening at this. Maverick's laughing. Phoenix. Everyone. Even Bob.

Especially Bob.

"Oh my God," Bob wheezes.

"I hate you," you grumble as he tries to reach for your hand. Despite how you pull away from him, he refuses to let go.

"Baby," he calls, eyes pleading for you to look at him.

"No."

His grin softens at your stubbornness. "I think it's cute."

You narrow your eyes at the man. "You're lying."

"I'm really not." His ears immediately turn red again upon looking at the ink on your skin.

The squad notices, because of course they do.

"Oh, there it is," Fanboy shouts.

"Look at him go."

"He's red!"

"Leave him alone," you mutter, but finally laugh despite yourself. The tension slowly melting from your shoulders.

Bob squeezes your hand. Then he leans closer, close enough that only you can hear him. "I still can't believe you've been hiding that from me."

Your stomach flutters, eyes finding his. His stare is intense; it's akin to the same look he gave you last Wednesday night after you got done making out on his couch while trying to watch a movie. The memory and intention of his gaze make you nervous.

"It wasn't exactly important," you mumble, hands twitching in his hold.

His eyes drift briefly toward your lower back again before snapping upward. The movement is subtle.

Unfortunately not subtle enough, as Hangman catches it instantly. "Oh, he's looking again."

The squad erupts for a second time, whistling and calling out this time.

Bob groans, fingers squeezing yours as you giggle lightly. "Can you people not?"

"Nope," Hangman replies.

"Absolutely not," Rooster agrees.

Fortunately for you and Bob, Maverick chimes in again.

"Alright," he calls. "Now that we've all learned something new about Lucky today, can we finally play football?"

"Please," you beg as the squad laughs, but reassumes their formation.

But Bob looks at you for just a few moments longer.

For months, he'd been quietly taking care of you, bringing you drinks, walking you to your car, making sure you ate after long flights.

But somehow the thing that finally broke him wasn't a dangerous mission. It wasn't Maverick. It wasn't combat.

It was a tiny four-leaf clover tattoo.

When Bob searches for your eyes again, he finds you already looking at him.

Your smile is soft, and his expression immediately melts. The teasing around you fades into background noise.

"Still think it's cute?" you ask quietly.

His eyes flicker to the tattoo one last time. Then back to you. "Yeah."

The answer comes without hesitation, and your chest squeezes at the realization. "Even knowing I got it because I lost a drinking contest?" you test with a nervous look on your face.

A laugh escapes him, smile lines and crow's feet crinkling. "Especially because of that."

You roll your eyes, but still smile.

Bob leans close once more, "I think I'll have to take a closer look when we get home."

Heat floods your face instantly as he just watches you. "Oh my God," you squeak out.

His smile widens at this, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

Across the beach, Hangman points.

"There! Now she's red."

જ⁀➴

You go to grab the cooler sitting by the bed of Bob's truck, but before your hand can graze the handle, you feel your boyfriend's firm grasp on your lower tummy, tugging you in the opposite direction.

"Go sit in the car, I got it," he tells you, pressing a short kiss to the top of your head.

"Thank you, Bobby," you say, a small smile on your face as you move to climb into the passenger seat of his truck.

Despite the earlier teasing at the exposure of your tattoo, you settle into the stillness of the truck easily. It isn't until Bob joins you that you fully allow yourself to sink into the seat.

"Come 'ere, pretty," he says, opening his right arm as he starts the car. You slide over the open bench of the truck and tuck yourself into his hold.

Now leaning up against him, you close your eyes as his thumb rubs soothing circles into your shoulder. You hear the steady beating of his heart as you sit in the idling truck, the thumps calming you into a trance.

"Tired?" he asks as you nod your head, relaxing in his hold. "Let's just sit then. We can watch the sunset, then go home, how's that sound?"

"Perfect, Bobby," you mumble, hands going to wrap around his waist.

A cool chill had overcome the beach as the hours passed. Bob sees goosebumps creep up on your skin, from your arms to your tummy, the skin still exposed ever since this afternoon.

"Baby?" he asks, voice rising like it had earlier that day. The sound of it makes you sit up.

"Are you okay?" Your hand comes up to his face, holding it softly.

He nods, turning his head so he can kiss the inside of your palm. "Can I see it? Now that it's just us?"

Sure enough, the rest of the squad had pulled out of the parking lot, leaving you and Bob to watch the sunset in peace.

You blush at your boyfriend's request, but still pull away from him and turn your back towards him.

His hands find your lower back quickly, fingers tracing the delicate lines of your tattoo. One hand settles on your waist while the other continues to lightly rub your skin. You hear his breathing hitch slightly as he moves the denim fabric of your shorts down a little to get a better look.

Your fingers move towards the buttons at your front and you shimmy off the denim, dragging the fabric down your legs.

"Better?" you ask innocently. Bob's glad you don't look back at him now; surely you would see the goofy look on his face and laugh a bit.

For now, all he wanted was to take you all in, uninterrupted. No Jake or Bradley in his ear, teasing him, no Phoenix sending him looks, and no you, with your pretty gaze and soft smile. He couldn't take it.

Now he sees the swell of your ass from your bikini bottoms, your cheeks pressed up against the leather of his truck, criminal. The flimsy ties on your hips sit pretty, like they're waiting for someone to undo them. Suddenly, his eyes are tracking over your backside too, not just your once-hidden tattoo.

"Jesus, baby," he says, hands traveling further down to play with the shiny fabric of your bottoms. Bob feels himself strain a bit in his swim trunks.

As his fingers travel lower and lower, you can't help but arch away from his touch, pushing your hips back into the man's touch.

Now you look over your shoulder and see his mouth open, and his eyes blink quickly.

"Bobby," you call his name, and his eyes find you, gaze lazy but alert all at once.

"Come 'ere," he says once again, this time patting his thigh. Just as you're about to straddle his lap, his hands correct your hips, turning you so you're facing the sunset and leaning over the steering wheel.

You look back in confusion, but Bob just moves in to kiss you sweetly, stealing all the words from your throat.

"You said you wanted to watch the sunset, so watch," his voice is low now, like it was earlier on the beach. "Need a closer look, is that okay?"

Your tummy turns at his question, and you find yourself pressing into the firm muscle of his thigh, hips coming down to roll on the ridges.

Bob huffs at this and reaches for the strings of your bottoms, pulling the fabric out of the way completely, leaving you bare on his thigh. His hands find your ass, fully palming you now, squeezing the fat there.

"So pretty, you know that, Lucky?" he asks, one hand now traveling across your soft, warm skin to rest on the top of your inner thigh. Fingers are dangerously close to where you need them.

Just as you're about to answer, you feel his lips descending on your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses across the skin. You squirm even more at this, hands gripping the wheel until your knuckles go white.

"So wet against me, haven't even touched you," he teases, breath hot by your ear, as you whine.

"Need your touch, please," you beg, hips canting against his thigh once more until his hands still you into place.

"Want my fingers?" he asks as his left hand goes to slip further down from your thigh to your heat.

"Yes, yes," you plead, throwing your head back against him, leaving your throat completely exposed for him as you arch once more in his hold.

Bob dips his mouth to the front of your neck now, nipping rather than just sucking and kissing. At the same time, his thumb finds your bundle of nerves within seconds, pressing little circles of pressure against it.

"Keep moving against me, baby, I'll help you," he tells you, right hand coming to help your hips move back and forth against his thigh.

Your now pebbled nipples rub against the thin fabric of your bikini, making you whine at the feeling of the sensitive skin bouncing up and down a bit. Seeming to have no trouble moving your hips onto your boyfriend's muscle, his hand comes up your front and begins to play with the strained nipples over your top.

"Bobby, please," you cry out. Immediately, he takes one of your tits into his large palm and squeezes the fat. The rough moment makes your hips jerk, but they don't stop moving.

You yelp as he sucks at an especially sensitive part of your neck, eyes rolling back and closing as you let yourself become consumed by him.

The circles on your clit become tighter, and you can feel your boyfriend flex the muscles in his thigh with your movements. The string in your tummy begins to wind tighter and tighter.

One particular firm press at your core makes you tense up and fall apart on Bob's lap as he continues to suck at your neck and pinch at your tits.

As soon as the shakes in your thighs begin to settle, Bob moves his hand from your wet core to splay it across your tummy, tugging you back into him. As you settle on his lap, you feel the large bulge digging into your back, something that makes you whine in his hold.

Your hands leave the steering wheel, fingers are a bit cramped, but you still go to reach behind you and fiddle with the string of his swim trunks.

"Need more," you say breathlessly as he huffs into your neck.

"Yeah, yeah, you sure?" His hand come up to your jaw, turning it so he'll be able to see your face. When he does, he sees a fucked out look on your face, eyes batting sweetly and tongue coming out to wet at your lips. The sight makes him groan as he grips your face tighter and bring you into a heated kiss.

His tongue works to push into your mouth, and once you part your lips, he licks into your mouth like it's his first time tasting someone else's spit.

Your hands don't stop moving, though, and finally, you free him from his shorts, pushing the fabric down his hips as much as you can.

From here, Bob lifts your hips up and settles you on all fours on the bench of his truck. By now, the sun is long gone, and he can only see the ink of your tattoo when the moonlight catches on your body.

The sight of your dripping cunt, hanging out in the air for him, makes him all but rip the shorts off his legs as he moves to come up behind you. He can see your core swell and push against nothing, the slickness collecting on your inner thighs painting a pretty picture for him.

"Sorry, baby, I just can't help myself," he says as he dips a finger in your entrance, making your back arch and ass press into him even further. As you do so, you can feel his throbbing length against your ass cheek, jumping and rubbing into you as he stretches you out on his fingers.

Soon enough, he pushes in another finger, curling them into you at a slow pace that makes you crave more.

Sensing your dwindling patience, he bends over your frame until his mouth is by your ear. "Just getting you ready for me, okay?"

You nod at this, not trusting your voice anymore. Before he pulls up again, he brushes your hair and tucks it behind your ear, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head.

The kiss is sweet, but the way his fingers pump in and out of your heat is anything but. Your muscles squeeze against him, and each time it happens, you feel his hips grind into you. His member now flush with your body as he rubs himself against you at the same rhythm of his fingers.

"Please," you whine out again, and you feel his fingers leave your entrance. Now, you feel a firm hand on your lower back, thumb rubbing where your tattoo is. The other hand guides his member towards your entrance, pushing in slowly.

Bob feels your warm heat envelope him, the ridges and veins on his dick being pressed perfectly against your walls. "Oh, fuck, baby," he says as you pulse around him, not even halfway in yet.

"Feels good," you whine, pushing your hips back against him, swallowing more of him.

"Gonna hurt yourself, baby. Slow down," he groans, no real push back in his voice as he bottoms out, hips now pressed against the globes of your ass.

"Please, Bobby," you plead again, head moving to look back at the man.

He whines, seeing the look on your face. To think you were such a shy, meek thing around everyone, and now you're pushing back on his dick, begging him to fuck you into the seat of his truck.

Bob tears the T-shirt off his body before moving. On hand coming to the hem and raising it above his body, giving you a view of his abs and biceps all in one go.

His other hand roams down your back to the pretty little bow of your bikini top. You feel him fiddle with it for a minute, almost like he's contemplating whether or not he should untie them. But ultimately, he pulls the strings and lets the top fall onto the seat beneath you.

Within seconds, his hand attaches itself to your tit, rolling your nipple in his hand. The other goes back to its place on your lower back, thumb pressing into your ink. And finally, he reels his hips back and pushes into you.

You both moan at the feeling, his tip finding a deep part of you as you arch further into his hold. Soon he finds a steady rhythm, pushing his length in and out of you as you squirm underneath him.

There are so many things to look at, from the way your face presses into the leather to the way your ass bounces against his hips as he thrusts into you. But again and again, he finds himself looking at the little clover on your backside. The ink is something so foreign on your otherwise unmarked skin.

If you had asked him a few hours ago, Bob would have never expected you to have a tattoo, let alone one in this spot. But then again, he wouldn't have expected you to lull your tongue out and push your hips into his as he fucked you for the first time.

Both things were exhilarating, making his heart race and his thrusts pick up in pace, something you seemed to be a fan of as you whine underneath him.

He knows he should've laid you out on his bed, taken care of you, really taken care of you, not just let you grind against his thigh and finger you until you were whimpering under him. He should've kissed all over your body, let his mouth find your core, tasted you.

But every time he caught a glimpse of the delicate tracing of your tattoo, he felt himself reel all over again.

Bob had to have you like this, bent over and pressed into the seat of his truck. Back on full display to him, muscle and sweet skin exposed.

Still, he felt a little guilty that he let it happen like this. Couldn't even get home before he started reaching for you and thinking about your tattoo.

Instead of dwelling on the fact for any longer, he allowed himself to feel your wet heat, feel how it squeezed against him. His hand left your now raw, sensitive nipples in search of your clit, thumb wanting to find it once more to make you come again.

"So fucking good, so good, Lucky," he groans, hips slapping harsher against you as he finds your sweet spot once again.

You try to keep your eyes open, try to look at him and the blissed out expression on his face, but as soon as his thumb makes contact with your bud again, your eyes roll back into your head, and you sink into the leather underneath you.

"Warm and pretty, all for me, huh?" he asks, thumb pressing firmer, tighter circles into your clit.

Nodding, all you can do is whine at his words. The way his hand pushes on your lower back, arching you further into his hold, makes his length find a home in your heat in the best way possible.

His body comes down to yours like earlier; now you feel his rigid muscles moving against your back. The hand that was on your back gathers your hair into a sloppy ponytail as he tugs you up to his face.

"Need a kiss, please, baby," he whines, hips snapping into you at a brutal pace. Still, you can tell he's close, his body covers yours, humping into you like he has something to prove.

You nudge his nose and pucker your lips. Suddenly, he's diving in, sucking at your lips, firm and searing kisses pressed into your mouth. At the feeling of his thumb tapping against your clit, your mouth opens, giving him the perfect opportunity to capture your tongue and suck. Spit mixes and drips down your chin as you begin to shake in his hold.

Again, the thread snaps in your tummy. His length moves in you, not letting up, helping you through your climax. Bob's mouth kisses around your face, hand still gripping your hair so he can reach your cheeks, forehead, and chin with his mouth.

Soon, you feel him spill into you, groaning against your mouth. The warmth seeps into your tummy, and you find yourself wanting to curl further into his hold.

Bob heaves against your back as he works to the end of his climax. Snaking a hand around your waist, he takes you from your spot on the bench and instead plants you on his lap upright.

His arms squeeze around you as his head dips in between the softness of your neck, laying sweet kisses there.

"Are you okay? It wasn't too rough, right?" he asks, hands tracing your skin in a way that makes you shiver.

"Felt so good, I promise," you say, nudging his nose once more and leaning in for a soft kiss.

"Good, good." Bob wraps around, warm body cradling yours.

"Maybe I should get another tattoo and not tell you. I think I could relive that over and over again," you tease as he laughs into your skin, both of you still feeling a bit loopy from your pleasure.

"One surprise tattoo is enough for a lifetime," he says, tightening his arms around you.

You smile against him as the faint light from the moon dances across his features; even now, you see the teasing look he gives you.

"I was really convinced you'd be upset," you confess, the quietness of the car almost swallowing your words.

But instead, Bob pulls back to look at you. "Upset?"

"About the tattoo."

A look of genuine confusion crosses his face. "Why would I be upset?"

You shrug. "It was a stupid drunk choice, doesn't exactly scream responsible naval aviator."

Bob stares at you for a moment, like he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth.

Then he reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You flew into a combat zone to back up a team that was outnumbered."

Your eyes drop.

He continues anyway.

"You graduated at the top of your class. You're the best pilot I know."

A small smile pulls at his lips.

"I think you're allowed one stupid tattoo."

A laugh escapes you. "Just one?"

"One," he confirms, nodding his head, but the smile on his face says otherwise.

"You're very generous," you tease, leaning in to kiss his lips again.

He groans into the kiss, pressing deeper, like he can't get enough of you. "I know," he whispers as you laugh.

Adopt me! Come by the Coronado Police Station this weekend to meet your new best friend!

Bradley pauses as he reads over the text, taking in the place, date, and time. Tomorrow morning, a fifteen-minute drive from his small two-bedroom house. He doesn't know why, but he reaches into his back pocket to take out his phone, snapping a quick picture. Bradley looks over his shoulder, seeing if anyone has caught him in the act. And just as quickly as he had stopped, he was off again.

The drive home should feel like any other; wind in his hair, aviators over his eyes blocking the rays of the setting sun, and soft classic rock from the radio. But Bradley couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

Phoenix went on and on today about how her family is visiting her for the weekend, saying how excited she is to see her parents again. Bradley smiled at her, genuinely happy at the news.

Bob had talked about staying in with his girlfriend this weekend, saying they were going to try out a new recipe of banana bread they saw on the Food Network earlier this week. Bradley had hummed, telling Bob to save him a slice and to bring it in on Monday.

Jake had even told Bradley about the long run he was going on with a few of the newest TOPGUN class recruits, saying he was going to put them through hell this weekend. Bradley just laughed and grimaced at this, thankful his time in the program hadn't been led by someone as ruthless as one of his best friends.

But as the keys hit the small dish on his counter, Bradley couldn't help but tune into the creaks and groans of his house. Nothing else, just the small and quiet sounds. Even as he cooked dinner that night, the boiling of the pasta seemed drowned out by the stillness of the kitchen, of everything that surrounded Bradley. The episode he had seen at least three times now seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Bradley only heard his breathing and the occasional dripping of the faucet.

The hot summer nights were grueling. Not only due to the heat of his sticky skin against the now warm sheet, but also because Bradley could hear every little bug from the window above his bed. Cicadas seemed to chirp, grasshoppers seemed to sing, and if he listened closely, he could even sometimes hear the buzzing of the fireflies. Too quiet, but so loud. Loudness from the wrong sounds, the ones nobody noticed. Loudness from the beating of his heart from underneath his skin. Loudness of the crinkling sheets beneath his grasp. Loudness from the unsteady breath that escaped his lips.

Reaching for his phone, Bradley looked at the most recent picture in his camera roll. Swiping out and clicking the clock icon, he set an alarm for 8 AM sharp.

જ⁀➴

Bradley pulls into the parking lot and takes in the sight around him. Cars are already packed in the lot, despite it only being 5 minutes since the adoption event started. Minivans and SUVs are taking up most of the spots; his Bronco seems out of place among the other cars. The California sun is barely starting to warm up the air, but Bradley knows in an hour he'll be thankful for the loose Hawaiian shirt he wears.

Off to the right side of the building, he can hear children laughing and dogs barking. Tucking his keys in his back pocket, he makes his way towards the noise.

Like he suspected, families are standing around chatting with volunteers in bright pink shirts, the same pink on the poster from the base. Kids are wide-eyed and fascinated with all of the dogs they see. It's not just German shepherds, but smaller dogs too, and all types of breeds. He wonders why his poster only had the proud-looking line-up when there were so many other options.

But like a man on a mission, Bradley peers over the crowd of people and spots K-9 in big black letters near the middle of the scene. Sending small smiles and tapping his left hand anxiously on the side of his thigh, Bradley weaves through the crowd. Taking in the well-behaved group of dogs before him, he settles down a bit. There's only one volunteer over in this area, a woman with her back turned away from him. It only settles him more, giving him the space to really look over the animals. Some of the dogs are panting, as if being out on the grass has somehow exhausted them. Others are playing with each other, rolling around, and showing their bellies. But one dog sits near the woman, curled in on itself, head tucked into her side.

Without meaning to, Bradley watches this dog, missing the way the woman looks at him fondly.

"He's just a little shy, but I promise he's a good boy," your voice snaps him out of his trance.

Bradley doesn't think he's ever thought so hard about what to say next. You have a soft look on your face, eyes darting back and forth between him and the dog that sits so close to you. The morning light is peeking out from beneath the tree branches, golden rays dancing across your skin. Bradley is glad he doesn't have his sunglasses on right now.

"What's his name?" Bradley walks closer to you, and you turn your body towards him. The dog next to you perks up a bit at the movement.

You smile a little before saying it, "Ducky." Seeing the way his brows raise, you laugh a bit. "He's just a bit of an odd pup out, thought the name suited him."

Bradley couldn't help but feel like it was fate. Ducky and Rooster. It was almost laughable.

"You said he's shy," Bradley led on, looking up to you as he sat on his haunches next to the dog.

"Yeah," you hummed. "Definitely my sensitive boy out of the group. These guys are retiring K-9, but Ducky has a bit of a soft side, wasn't trained properly as a puppy." Your voice seemed to waver a bit at the end of your sentence.

Bradley watched as your throat bobbed before you spoke again. He could tell where this conversation was going, but didn't want to interrupt. The look in your eyes was fiercely protective.

"He was abused by his first owner. So he has some PTSD tendencies. Hyper vigilant, can get really avoidant and shy, whines a lot when he's feeling anxious," you tell Bradley, petting the dog softly.

But nothing in your expression tells him that you don't care for this dog, that you think he's broken because of all of these things. It makes his heart beat a little quicker.

"But Ducky's a good boy. You just have to put some work in to see that." As you say his name again, Ducky peeks out from where he's hiding in your side. You smile a bit at this, ruffling his ears. "You wanna say hi to the sweet man?" you ask in a soft voice, like you're talking just to the dog, like Bradley's not right next to you, hearing every word.

He holds his hand out slowly, knowing not to move too fast. "Hey, Ducky. I'm Bradley." As soon as he says it, he feels a bit silly. But the way your smile deepens makes him continue. "Looking for a home, buddy? I got a nice backyard."

"Oh, he'll love that. Runs around like a bunny when he's all riled up," you told him with a smile on your face, now looking only at Bradley.

Bradley smiles at that, only imagining the life this dog could bring to his quiet house.

Finally, Ducky nudges his outstretched hand, sniffing it first, then licking it softly. He hears you gasp lightly at the action, nothing big though, trying not to disrupt the moment.

"He never does that," you offer. Bradley can see your head shaking slowly as Ducky continues to push into the man in front of you.

Bradley feels his heartbeat steady. It's quiet around him. Even with the squealings of the children around him and the barking of the other dogs, Bradley only hears the little laps of Ducky's tongue against the skin on his hand. But this quiet is something he can get used to, something that grounds him.

"It's a 150 dollar adoption fee, right?" Bradley asks, not tearing his eyes away from the dog in front of him. Ducky's big brown eyes seem to bore into his soul, making him ask the question before even thinking about what he's saying.

You bite your lip before speaking, trying to hide the big grin on your face, even though you know Bradley can't see it. "Um, no fee for him. I already took care of it."

Your words confuse Bradley. He looks over to you for an answer but sees clearly why you had paid the fee yourself.

Quickly, a hand comes up to your cheek as you wipe the stray tear away from your face. "I just didn't want anything to deter someone from taking him home." Bradley's heart clenches at this as you offer him a smile and you fan your eyes.

"Well, what do you say, Ducky? Wanna come home with me?" Bradley finds himself talking to the dog again, not feeling as silly this time around.

જ⁀➴

Bradley looks at the large, fluffy cream colored dog bed lying next to his and the brown wicker box overflowing with colorful chew toys with a small smile. Ducky had been a little hesitant to leave your side at first when he realized what was happening, but with some whispered assurance and a kiss on the tip of his wet nose from you, he jumped into Bradley's Bronco, settling in the passenger seat.

Ducky had whined when Bradley peeled out of the parking lot. The man had glanced over at Ducky as he stuck his head out of the window and looked in your direction. His eyes found your figure in the mirror, blue denim, and a sweet pink-colored top catching his eye. He saw the way you brought one hand up to your heart, and as the other wiped at your cheeks. You loved this dog, every bit of your being told him that.

Bradley couldn't help but feel bad as the dog's whines continued throughout shopping for essentials, the drive home, and the arrival at his house.

Ducky had opted to lie in Bradley's brown leather chair as soon as they got into the house, and he decided to take it as a good sign. But as the day continued, Ducky had barely left the spot, and small cries were coming every few minutes.

Opening up the sliding glass door to his backyard, Bradley called Ducky over, beckoning him to come out and play. But the swings of the bright blue and purple rope and the energetic movements from Bradley weren't doing anything to move Ducky from his spot.

Even when making dinner, Ducky had barely budged from his spot on the recliner. With the wafting scent of the food on the stovetop, Bradley was sure that Ducky would appear by his side sooner rather than later. But nothing came of it, even with the temptation of a seared ribeye with Ducky's name on it.

He had tried speaking softly like he had seen you do earlier that day, but Bradley didn't want to push the poor dog more than it seemed like he already did. Instead, he turned on the television and sat in the company of the shy dog.

It wasn't until Bradley was tucked under his sheets that he heard the faint noise of shuffling paws on his hardwood floors. Ducky sat next to the side of the bed, noticeably avoiding lying on the dog bed next to him. Bradley laughed quietly at this, furrowing his brows a bit.

He wasn't quite sure what to do, to be honest. Growing up, he never had dogs or cats or anything of that sort in the house. He figured it was hard enough being a single mother of a toddler; the added stress of an animal just wasn't feasible in his situation.

Sure, his friends growing up had dogs. He recalled throwing around a tennis ball with one of his friends and their black lab in their backyard almost every day during the summer before 7th grade. But Bradley had never lived with a dog. Never had to deal with big brown eyes looking at him as he lay underneath the sheets.

"You okay, buddy?" he asked in the otherwise quiet room.

To this, Ducky started whining.

"Oh, come on. I thought we got over that a few hours ago," Bradley groans, rolling up to sit in his bed now.

Bradley was man enough to admit it was hard to drag Ducky away from you during the adoption this morning. Ducky's whines as you gave him a few last pets and spoke gently to him, did tug on Bradley's heartstrings. Bradley was sure the dog next to him couldn't stop thinking about your kind eyes and sweet disposition; he certainly couldn't.

Bradley's hands were rougher than yours. He felt the softness as you handed the leash to him this morning. You had explained to him a routine that Ducky usually had with the unit, your hands animated as you looked between the pair in front of you with a smile. Occasionally, one would come down to rub the top of his head. Ducky was probably missing that, missing you.

On top of that, when Bradley smiled at the dog next to him, he couldn't help but think of how goofy he looked compared to you. Your smiles were gentle, drawing him and Ducky in from a few feet away. He could tell you had that kind of magnetism, that kind of energy that just took hold of people and didn't let go. Bradley struggled to think of what the dog in front of him thought as he shot him another small smile.

And Bradley couldn't let go of the way you switched from talking to him to Ducky. How you had described Bradley with a soft tone and warm look in your eyes. You didn't even know him. How did you settle on "sweet man" from what Bradley was giving you this morning? It was a little too mind-boggling to think about for too long.

Shaking away the memories of this morning, Bradley was brought back to the dog that sat at his side. With a small sigh, he pointed to the bed next to him. "That's your bed, Ducky. It's time to go to sleep."

This only got him louder whines.

Bradley sighed and shook his head. He felt clueless.

"Do you want to come up here?" he tried, patting the comforter near his feet.

Within seconds, Ducky was jumping onto the bed and taking claim to the opposite side of the bed.

"Unbelievable. I try to get you to listen all day, and this is what you respond to," Bradley laughed as he looked at Ducky with a smile, not able to get mad at the dog as he cuddled up similarly to this morning with you.

The whines had stopped now, replaced with steady breathing and a small huff. The buzzing of the bugs outside his window that seemed so loud yesterday was now quiet. Bradley was only keying in on the ups and downs of Ducky's chest, something more grounding than he realized.

"Alright, Ducky. Time for bed," Bradley spoke again to the dog, stroking the fur on his back gently. Lying his head back down on his pillow and continuing his movements, Bradley was asleep within minutes. Soft snores from both him and Ducky fill the house with a comfortable, peaceful energy.

જ⁀➴

It was a bit daunting at first. That first week with Ducky was definitely a learning curve. Trying to adjust his routine to best suit the dog's needs hadn't been quick or easy.

The first morning, Bradley woke up to licks on his face and playful growling. At first, Bradley thought Ducky wanted attention, some pets, and cuddles. But as soon as he sat up in bed, Ducky was bolting to the front door.

Sitting in front of the door with the green leash in his mouth, Ducky whined as Bradley slowly made his way down the hallway.

Still adorned in his slippers and ratty college football shorts, Bradley closed the front door and took off with Ducky as the sun rose in the distance. After a few minutes of tugging Bradley down the block, Ducky broke out into a trot, urging Bradley to keep up with him.

That's how Bradley ended up running barefoot in his neighborhood at 5 in the morning, slippers in one hand and leash in the other. He had passed Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. Nguyen on their morning aerobic walk with a small nod and smile. The older ladies had laughed at the scene, something Bradley couldn't help but join in on.

An hour later, they ended up back at Bradley's house. This time, Ducky barked happily as he opened the sliding glass door out to his backyard, running circles in the yard much like you had said he would. Bradley found himself watching with a disbelieving smile on his face, wishing he could somehow tell you that you were right.

A few weeks later, Bradley runs shirtless, tennis shoes on his feet now, with Ducky on an early May morning. The sun is just starting to peak out from the greenery lining the trail they take every morning. Bradley's grateful for the cool morning air as sweat wicks at his lower back and hairline. A combination of the morning dew and perspiration rolls down the muscles of Bradley's body as he jogs.

Suddenly, Ducky pauses once they reach the familiar park. Bradley looks down at his dog and then up to see what he could possibly be stopping for.

Seeing nothing but the group of older women with small hand weights and crows in the trees, Bradley bends down to Ducky's level. "What's up, buddy? What do you see?"

But as soon as Bradley settles down next to the dog, Ducky's leash is slipping through his fingers. He reaches out to grab onto anything, his dog, his collar, his leash, but ends up grasping at the air instead. Ducky is taking off in a sprint before him.

Rising to his feet and going after him. Bradley swears under his breath and calls out loudly, "Ducky!"

He finds himself weaving through the playground, wood chips kicking up in his wake. But his eyes widen as Ducky zeroes in on a group of women at the edge of the park.

He sees them all stretched down in downward dog as Ducky gets closer and closer. Again, Bradley calls out, "Ducky!"

At this, he sees a few heads turn towards the sound of his voice. But only one woman looks in the direction of the blur of fur coming straight for her. A yelp is heard as Ducky barrels into her, knocking her from her place on the mat. Gasps are heard from the surrounding women, and Bradley's chest heaves as he sprints to catch up to his dog and pull him off the stranger.

But as he gets closer, his heart calms at the sound of laughter. Ducky is lying on top of this poor woman, but at least he's not attacking or barking or anything of that sort. No, he's just licking and nuzzling into the figure on the ground.

"I am so sorry. I don't," Bradley gets out quickly, stuttering a bit as he looks around at the group with an apologetic smile. "He never runs away like that, I'm sorry. Ducky, get over here!"

But the dog stays put, and the laughter doesn't stop. But finally, Ducky is pushed up from the figure on the ground, and Bradley's heart races once more when he sees your face peeking out from behind the ball of fur.

"Oh, it's you." He doesn't know why he says it, but it comes from him like a breath of relief.

You laugh at this, not even taking in the way Bradley scolds himself at the odd behavior.

"And it's you and Ducky!" Your attention is on the dog in front of you, petting him and smiling brightly, only glancing up at Bradley once before returning to the panting dog rather than the panting man.

Bradley kneels down next to you, sweat still rolling down his skin. He doesn't catch the way your cheeks flush as you take in his build. Muscles are a mix of the perfect summer tan and red rosy dusting, no doubt from the sprint he took off on to get here. His arms strain as they go behind him, veins jumping out from his skin. From this position, his tight stomach is also on full display, ridges and divots begging for your attention.

What you don't realize is that Bradley is doing the exact same thing to you, drinking you in fully. You're in flow yoga pants, calves peeking out from the wide-legged flare of the pants. And your top half is barely hidden, only wearing a sports bra, pretty and pink like the top he had seen you in a month ago. The straps dig into your shoulders, and Bradley takes in the swell of your breasts as he follows the scoop of the top.

A bark from Ducky snaps you both back into reality. Some of the women around you laugh.

"You guys seem to be doing well," you spoke softly, voice just as sweet as Bradley remembered.

"Mm, yeah. We've got our routine now, he's been great," Bradley tells you, reaching to pet his dog.

You watch the action fondly, seeing the way Ducky leans into his touch now. The moment is sweet and completely yours, at least that's what it feels like as you and Bradley make eye contact and share small smiles. But a voice clearing is heard as you and Bradley remember where you are.

You turn to a young woman next to you, speaking quicker than Bradley has ever heard before from you. "I'm gonna go with them, I'll be back soon." She nodded at you with a gleaming look in her eye that Bradley didn't quite understand. But you turned quickly towards him, grabbing Ducky's leash and apologizing to the other women around you.

As soon as you had walked away from the group, they resumed their positions, some of them craning their necks to watch the scene a few feet away from them unfold.

"I'm so sorry about that, again," Bradley told you, grimace on his face as you handed him the leash.

But you just shook your head and smiled. "No, no. It was nice seeing you guys again. I was wondering how he was doing with you," you told him. Bradley hoped you didn't catch the way he swallowed hard at your words. Leaning down a bit, your hand came down to Ducky's face. "But you like the sweet man, huh? I knew you would."

Bradley's cheeks flush at the repetition of your description of him, yet again.

The sun paints everything a nice golden color, pinks in the sky still dancing a bit in the distance. But Bradley can't peel his eyes away from you, and it seems like you are having the same problem.

"I should probably get back." Your head is pointing in the direction of the class, now moving through another pose.

"Yes, yeah. Sorry," he doesn't know why he apologizes, but the smile on your face doesn't make him think about it for long.

"Well, bye, Ducky. And bye..." you lead off, looking for him to pick up the end of your sentence.

"Bradley," he says, hoping you say it back to him.

"Bye, Bradley," you tell him, turning away from the pair, but not before sending them one last glance over your shoulder. And Bradley doesn't realize how long he stands there and hangs onto your words, only focusing on the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth. It had never sounded better, sounded sweeter from you.

Begrudgingly, he turns, ushering Ducky to follow him.

"I know, Ducky. Come on," he says, starting off in a slow jog as his dog turns back and begins to follow him. But as the day continues, Ducky's whining starts up again, and Bradley can't help but think of you.

જ⁀➴

Pool balls clack up against each other as Bradley misses yet another wide-open shot.

"Jesus, Rooster," Jake laughs loudly. "Missing your dog so much you can't even focus on one little game of pool?"

It was partly true. It was Bradley's first night out since getting Ducky; he had been opting to spend the nights and weekends at home with the dog rather than out drinking with the squad.

But before Bradley could defend himself, mouth already opening to fire back, Bob had cut in, "No, he's definitely distracted because of the girl."

Bob sipped his soda innocently as the group of pilots turned in his direction with peaked interest.

Looking at Bradley, Bob grimaced; he was always a little loose-lipped after his 3rd soda of the night. "Shoot. Sorry, Bradley."

This set off a chain of questions from the group as Bradley's head hung low, hand coming up to the back of his neck to rub harshly at the skin.

Bradley had confessed his feelings to the WSO earlier this week, not being able to get the image of you out of his brain the entire weekend after Ducky had run you down in the park. He just had to tell someone, and Bob seemed like the logical choice. Smart, level-headed, in a stable relationship. But the words from the WSO only sent him into a spiral as he had finished describing you.

"Sounds like your perfect woman."

Bob's voice seemed to be on repeat the entire week. And God, he was right. You were perfect. More importantly, Bradley felt like he was going through withdrawal. Every time he looked at Ducky, he thought of you. He reasoned that getting out of the house and spending some time with his friends would be good for him.

Evidently, his secret being outed wasn't what he had in mind for tonight.

"Idiots, shut it!" Phoenix's voice rang out above the others. The group was now silent, all looking to the woman. "What girl?" she asked hesitantly.

With a sigh, Bradley's shoulders slumped. "The woman who I got Ducky from. I ran into her again last week, doing yoga at the park on one of our morning runs. And I don't know," he says, face twisting, not even sure why he's volunteering this information to his friends. "I just... I can't stop thinking about her."

The group is silent, understanding and hearing the sincerity in Bradley's voice.

Jake lets out a whistle at this. "Let's get you another drink, lover-boy." And at this, the group seems to hum in agreement.

The blonde clamps a hand down on his shoulder, guiding him to the bar.

"And you don't have her number?" Jake asks as they weave through the crowds of people.

"No, man. I mean, I don't even know her name. The adoption paperwork happened quicker than I expected, and I was just standing there like a dumbass the second time," Bradley grumbles, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Yikes. Any chance she's gonna do yoga again this week?" Jake asked as they sat at two open seats.

"I looked, it said the yoga happens the first Saturday of every month. So, I just have to wait," Bradley explained, feeling a little embarrassed at the admission.

"A month?! Good luck, my friend. You've gone crazy after only a week," Jake laughed. Bradley rolled his eyes at this and groaned, knowing Jake's words held some truth to them.

"Hello, gentlemen. I've got a drink here for you, Lieutenant Bradshaw," Penny's voice makes Bradley's head snap up. Her hand is pointing in across the bar, and when he follows it, he can't help but swear.

"Holy shit," Bradley laughs, turning to Jake with a smile and wide eyes.

"Holy shit, that's her?" Jake asked, looking at you and your friend at the opposite side of the bar, taking in the way she poked your sides and laughed.

"That's her," he spoke breathlessly. Penny grinned at the scene unfolding in front of her.

"Go, dumbass. Go!" Jake pushed him off the barstool, both hands guiding him in your direction.

Bradley recognized the girl sitting next to you, the same one at the yoga class the other day; she was probably your best friend if he was guessing. The way you smiled at her, cheeks flushing as she spoke, and sent you a wink made Bradley giddy. She grabbed her purse and hopped off the stool, gesturing for him to come take her spot before squeezing your hand and leaving.

"Hey," he says, sitting next to you, disbelief on his features.

"Hey, you," you tease back. "Are you in the Navy?"

Bradley takes in the way your eyes narrow at him, like you're trying to put pieces together. He nods and smiles, "I am, TOPGUN graduate."

"So you saw the poster I put up? For the K-9 unit?" You were smiling brightly now, like you had guessed correctly.

"I did. The pink's what got me." Bradley's eyes met yours. This conversation seemed different than all the other you had in the past. Before, you were calm and collected, but here you were excitable and giggly.

"I totally thought you were a firefighter," you spoke honestly. "I put the K-9 posters up at the base, the fire station, and places like this," your finger wagged as you spoke, gesturing to the bar.

"Disappointed?" he asked, a teasing smile on his face.

You held your hands up in faux surrender. "No! Not at all. Impressed actually."

He grinned at this, settling into the conversation more and more. "And what do you do? Not a police officer, right?"

"No, vet actually. I just work pro bono with the police department, specifically for the K-9 unit. Those guys are hard workers, and usually get roughed up after big jobs," you told him with a small smile.

Bradley put together some pieces of his own. How you knew so much about Ducky, why you had gotten so close to him. You had probably gotten to see the pup at his lowest.

Bradley nodded, "Now I'm impressed." You smiled wider at this, laughing at his words.

For the first time since sitting with you, Bradley fully took you in. Your denim shorts that rode up just a bit and your white tank top, the V-neck framing your collarbones and chest perfectly. Your cheeks had a slight blush to them; he couldn't tell whether it was from him or from the fruity drink you seemed to be working on.

Again, you did the same thing. This time, though, Bradley was in a tight white T-shirt and jeans that seemed to strain against his thick biceps and thighs. His hair wasn't as windswept as it had been that day in the park; now it was pushed back slightly, a single curl coming down on the left side of his face.

The squad watched as the two of you talked, Jake practically skipping back to the group to tell them the good news. Every time they glanced over, you and Bradley had gotten closer and closer, fully leaning into each other.

You both sported matching smiles and flushed cheeks the entire night, despite letting both of your drinks sit and become lukewarm. The alcohol couldn't be to blame for the way you were acting.

They saw how Bradley's eyes softened as they met yours. How his shoulders relaxed after each laughing fit. How he opened himself completely in front of you.

You had talked about everything. It seemed to flow so easily out of Bradley, even the hard things. When you asked about his family, you must have noticed the way his face dropped slightly, instantly placing a supportive hand on his thigh. He had told you about his family, the squad, about Maverick. It was nice. You asked questions, not the kind that he had an automatic response for, but ones that made him think.

"Who on the squad is most like a sibling to you?"

"What dish instantly brings you back to childhood?"

And his favorite, "What's your favorite story about your dad?"

He asked you about school, and you indulged him in crazy stories from your early days in the profession. How you had worked out on a farm in Wyoming one summer and helped with the births of calves. It had been a lot more physically exhausting than you would've imagined. How you had studied in Australia for an exchange year, learning all about marine wildlife and how to care for them. The way your eyes lit up when you told him about a baby turtle hatching you had witnessed had him giddy.

You had told him about all the adventures you had gone on and all the ones you wanted to do in the future. Swimming in Baja, Mexico, with the Whale Sharks was at the top of your bucket list, and while Bradley was a bit scared of deep waters like that, he had to admit it didn't sound as scary if you were going to be by his side.

In exchange, he told you a few things about his time in the academy. The risks he had to take on missions, the close calls that happened more often than he would like. He saw the pain this job caused his mom, and he didn't want you to go into this without knowing the risks. But the way you bit your lip and told him that you thought what he was doing was so brave made his heart race and a wide grin break out on his face. You had hit his shoulder lightly at this, saying you were serious, but Bradley just smiled wider.

"Is there anything else I can grab you two tonight?" Penny asked, wiping down a glass as she looked at the pair, effectively popping their bubble.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. We stayed way too late," you spoke, digging into your wallet to pull out some bills to give the kind woman.

"Sorry, Penny," Bradley chuckled, handing her a handful of cash before you could even finish fumbling with you wallet. Your eyes met him, mouth about to open to argue, but he just offered you a hand as he hopped off the barstool.

"Goodnight, you two," she called as you both walked out with sheepish smiles.

You hadn't dropped Bradley's hand as you led him through the parking lot to your car. He relished in the warmth and softness; the feeling was vaguely familiar as he recalled the earlier touches from when you had first met.

"This is me," you told him, as moonlight danced across your features. Bradley couldn't help but run his eyes over your face, thinking to himself how beautiful you looked.

"Can I get your number?" he asked brazenly, a tad louder than he needed to. You giggled at this but nodded regardless, hands reaching for his phone as he stared at you.

Despite the cold breeze that came from the ocean just a few meters away from you both, Bradley felt a deep warmth spread in his chest. He opened your car door, closing it softly as you waved through the window. And once you backed out of your spot, Bradley found himself smiling all over again at the paw print stickers on your back window.

જ⁀➴

3 months later...

You and Bradley sprawled out on his couch as the movie finished up in front of you, Ducky sitting by your feet. Lying on Bradley's chest, you couldn't help but listen to his heartbeat beneath you.

These past few months with Bradley had been nothing short of perfect. He had texted you the morning after you had sat at the Hard Deck for hours, asking if you were free for dinner that same night. You remember laughing at his eagerness to yourself, but agreeing nonetheless.

He appeared at your door at 6:30 PM sharp, taking you out to a nice dinner on a beach patio. You teased him about not bringing Ducky, saying you thought they were a package deal, but you quickly paused the teasing after seeing how nervous he was by the way his cheeks flushed brightly.

He asked you about your career out here, only really talking about school last night with you. He said he wanted to learn more about you now. It was more thoughtful than you had expected.

Halfway through the dinner, you moved your chair over to Bradley's side of the table, something that caught a glare from the hostess. But you had to, as you scrolled through pictures and pictures of animals on your phone. You told him each of their names and all the little quirks they had, told him about the family you had worked with, and how much each of these animals meant to people. You hadn't noticed, but he smiled the entire time, not really looking at your phone but instead at the way you lit up when you spoke about the animal you've worked with.

When the date wrapped up, you told him that you'll just have to see his dog another time, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before you closed the door to your apartment. He hadn't seen you peek through the curtains, but you saw the way he pumped his fists like a dork while walking to his car. You couldn't help but fall even harder for the man.

Two days after your first date, Bradley had asked you to meet him in a little coffee shop near your apartment. He had apologized countlessly for the timing, seeing as he had requested 6 AM as the time, saying it was okay if you wanted to wait for the weekend, but his training schedule was just a little hectic at the moment. But you insisted it was okay, saying you had your own share of early mornings too and that you wanted to see him.

As he walked you to your car after a quick coffee and pastry, you smiled at him. Leaning against your car, you tugged him down by the collar of the familiar plain white tee he wore, pulling him in for a kiss. Bradley's hands found purchase on your hips, fingers giddy against your scrubs.

It was the fifth date, and both of you opted for a night in, where he promised to cook for you. It had also been the first time you had been in his apartment, Ducky clinging to your side the entire night.

Bradley had asked you to be his girlfriend before dinner was even finished, too distracted by the way you sat on the countertop to focus on the food simmering around him. You laughed as he flushed from the question and the sound of the smoke alarm going off, but ultimately said yes with a smile as he leaned down, caging you against his firm chest and the cabinets, to capture your lips in a deep kiss before waving a towel in front of the alarm. You couldn't help but laugh as you moved to open the sliding glass door to let the smoke out of the little house and to get some fresh air for yourself, too, after feeling how Bradley's hands rested on your thighs.

Recently, though, you had been having your fair share of sleepovers with the tall aviator. The first time he had slept over, you had shared one too many glasses of wine over sushi takeout from your favorite place downtown. After glancing at the clock and the empty bottle between you, you asked quietly if he wanted to spend the night.

Bradley hadn't ever seen you so shy before, but he figured the rosiness of your cheeks definitely matched his own and said nothing. Instead, he nodded, kissing your forehead sweetly as you further pushed into his hold.

He remembers feeling your soft face up against his bare chest as you dozed off, not being afraid to lean into his side once you had settled under the covers. The smell of your shampoo and lotion was strong, wafting off of you after your shower. Bradley lay there for a few minutes. Not daring to close his eyes, he instead wanted to take you in as you slept on top of him. The combination of your sweet smell and soft skin had the man reeling.

Now you lie on the couch at his apartment, and Bradley sees your eyes blinking away sleep as you curl up to his side. With a kiss pressed to your hair, your eyes widened as Bradley ushered you to the bedroom. Big hands coming up to your sides to support you, strong chest pushed against your back to guide you.

It was the first time you had slept over at his. But after grabbing a quick shower, inspecting all of the hair and body care products he had available, you took your place in bed. Bradley's sheets were softer than yours, and you wondered why it had taken so long to sleep over at his.

But before you were about to call out and ask him, the answer came jumping onto the bed next to you, taking Bradley's spot. You laughed softly as Ducky turned on his back, urging you to rub his tummy.

Getting out of the bathroom, with nothing but a tight towel around his waist, Bradley groaned. You giggled at this, but Bradley shook his head you and Ducky all cuddled up already.

Walking into the small closet on the other side of the room, your eyes tracked Bradley. The way the small towel around his hips was working to show off his deep V-line had you squirming in your spot on the bed. You watched his back muscles push and pull as he rolled his neck and stretched a bit while walking. Maybe you could offer to work out the knots; it'd be a win-win situation for you and your boyfriend.

As he emerged from the closet in nothing but a pair of boxers, you urged yourself to calm down. It wasn't like it was your first time seeing him in this state; you did have sleepovers at your apartment quite often. But it was the first time that you could actually do something about it.

There had been countless times when you and Bradley had been pretty handsy, but all of them seemed to be interrupted. Whether it was an emergency call from the clinic or an alert on Bradley's phone that Ducky had knocked over another vase in the house, something always tore you away in those moments.

You had felt Bradley's frustration, seen it firsthand. The way his jaw ticked each time, and his hands got all grabby before either of you had to leave. You didn't blame him, often finding yourself rubbing your thighs together after your time together was interrupted. Maybe even having a wandering hand shoot down your panties if he was the one who had to go.

But tonight you might have him all to yourself, whether that means deep kisses or holding each other tightly and finding sleep. That was until Ducky refused to move.

"Come on, Ducky, off the bed tonight," Bradley told the dog, standing over him.

"You let him sleep on the bed regularly?" you asked with a playful look on your face. Bradley caught your tone quickly, sending you a lighthearted eye roll.

"Yes, because I love my dog," he spoke, ruffling Ducky's ears.

"But what's the big bed for then?" you questioned again, smile growing bigger with every second.

Bradley wanted to lean over and kiss it off your face. But with the big dog in his way, he just shrugged. "He didn't like it."

You giggled at this, Ducky turning to you at the sound. "Gosh, he's a big softy, huh?" you told Ducky in a sweet tone, something that made Bradley suck his teeth and grin.

But with Ducky's attention elsewhere, Bradley was able to shift the dog to the end of the bed. Getting under the covers, Bradley reached for you automatically. Instead of feeling the cotton of your pajama pants that you usually wear, he instead felt your warm skin.

Seemingly watching the confusion spread across his face, you offered an explanation, "Your sheets are nice. And it's a little hot out."

If nice sheets and 90-degree weather were what it took to get you in the little lacy pink underwear your wore now, Bradley would buy a set in every color and run his heating system even on hot nights like tonight.

But instead, he just hummed, fingers tracing over the lacy trimming of your panties.

On top of this, you wore one of his old Navy shirts. Not expecting to sleep over, you had limited options available. Bradley had never been more thankful.

"Let's go to bed, pretty girl," Bradley told you as he saw the way your eyes started to blink closed again. You nodded sweetly at this and settled under the covers as he turned off the lamp on his nightstand.

Settling under the covers, Bradley's big hands found your stomach, pulling your back into his chest. From this position, sure, his hands could roam all over you, and he could touch anything that begged for his attention. But what stopped him in his tracks was the smell of his body wash on your skin.

It made logical sense. You had showered before getting in bed while he washed up the dishes and straightened the living room, but it didn't hit him until this very moment that you were fully his. The woman he had pined over for a month, not even knowing your name, only remembering your kind eyes and soft touch. Now, you were in his bed, falling asleep next to him in his shirt after washing yourself with his body wash.

What did he do to deserve you? You who cared for animals so much that you made a career out of it. You who held his hand and kissed away his tears when he finally told you about what happened to his father. You, who at every chance were unapologetically yourself, either dancing in the kitchen while making dinner or sobbing your eyes out while watching Marley & Me for the hundredth time.

He loved you. Bradley realized in that moment that he loved you. More than he had ever loved anyone like this before.

At the thought, his hands had squeezed your waist tightly, and you stirred next to him.

"Baby, are you okay?" you asked, voice laced with sleep.

Letting his grip on you loosen, he was quick to come down and kiss your neck in an apology. "Sorry, just thinking about you. Didn't mean to wake you up."

You hum, shifting against him slightly. Your neck is now on full display, and Bradley just couldn't help himself.

Feeling his warm mouth work against your sensitive neck made you squirm against him. Bradley's mouth was relentless, biting and licking underneath your jaw and down the side of your throat. Your breath hitched as he moved a spot near your pulse point, chest rising and falling dramatically.

Bradley's hands wrapped around your stomach once more, but this time, one of his hands snaked underneath your shirt. "Can I touch you like this?" his voice was deep, breath hot against your ear.

"Yes, please," you whispered.

Suddenly, his mouth was back on your throat, and your hips pushed back further into his now hard length. His hand came up to grab your tits. They were in the perfect position for Bradley, who was able to pinch and roll your nipples in between his big fingers.

"Oh gosh, Bradley," you huffed, eyes fully rolled back into your skull as his hand worked against your puffy nipples and he ground his length into your ass.

"Yeah, baby, feels good?" he asked in a cocky coo, watching the way you bit down on your bottom lip and nodded up and down at his words.

Your mouth opened, not quite knowing exactly if you could speak with the way his touch seemed to intensify in mere seconds. But still, you tried, aching for him now, "Touch me, please. Down-"

A loud bark had you jumping out of your skin. Ducky growled at Bradley, starting to shield you protectively.

You laughed at his dog's actions, and Bradley looked at you in disbelief.

"Ducky, down! Off the bed!" Bradley's voice was loud, but it carried no real weight to scare the dog. Ducky instead settled down in between you two, almost pushing Bradley off the bed.

You laughed again.

"This is unbelievable," Bradley scoffed as he threw the covers off his body and got out of bed. From here, you could see the way his length strained under his boxers.

But it wasn't long before Bradley was over at your side of the bed and scooping you up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" you asked, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"Trying to give my girl what she wants. This time uninterrupted," Bradley huffed, sending a glare at Ducky on the bed as he carried you outside the bedroom.

But when Bradley closed the door, Ducky only started scratching and barking even louder. You looked at him with a small smile, pressing a kiss to his temple to calm him.

"I've got an idea," he spoke, something dancing in his eyes. "Go open the door to the patio."

"Bradley, no! You can't leave him out there!" you chastised with a small frown on your face.

He hummed, head falling into your shoulder. But just as quick as it fell, it came back up again.

"Okay, you go outside then. Wait for me," he told you, planting a searing kiss on your lips that made you forget any questions you had. Bradley placed you down softly and watched as you padded over to the back patio, underwear now clinging to your skin in a way that almost looked uncomfortable.

But as soon as he heard the click of the sliding glass door shutting. He opened the bedroom door and let Ducky inspect the living room.

"I don't know where she is, buddy," he told the dog, shoulders shrugging, really trying to sell the bit. Ducky sighed and made his way back into the bedroom after a few sniffs and laps around the couch.

After seeing him settle back into the bed and toss and turn for a few minutes, Bradley crept out the back door, swiping the big, soft blanket you liked so much, on his way.

"What'd you do?" you asked the man as he came up to you and draped the blanket around your shoulders.

"He's sleeping. Do you really think so poorly of me?" he teased, hands once again coming to your waist.

"I never said anything," you shot back, failing to hide the small smile on your face.

Bradley walked backwards until he reached the little love seat on his back patio, pulling you down so you were sitting on his lap. You smiled at the eager look on Bradley's face, giggling to yourself.

"Hi," he said, leaning in to press his lips against yours.

"Hi," you teased back, meeting his lips halfway.

Bradley's mouth moved in a delicate, yet passionate way. His hands were planted firmly on your hips; you could feel his thumbs pressing into your skin as the kisses turned more intense. You gasped as Bradley dragged your core across his hard length, cotton rubbing together to create a dizzying friction.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, Bradley pushed his tongue into your mouth, licking into it with urgency. The noise that came out of your throat at his movements was quiet, but Bradley heard it nonetheless. Groaning into your mouth, Bradley moved your hips once more, going a bit crazy at the feeling of your heat against him.

"Come on, baby. Show me how much you need me, huh?" he broke the kiss to speak, eyes searching yours. But all he saw was the gloss already over them as you nodded quickly and threw your arms over his shoulders.

Bradley kissed down your neck as your hips started to move back and forth against his length. Your pace was slow, but he heard the hitches of your breath and decided not to push you just yet. His hands instead crawled up underneath your shirts and began to toy with your nipples again. At this, you captured your bottom lip between your teeth and nuzzled your head into the crook of Bradley's neck.

"So sensitive for me. Doing so good. You like it when I touch you like this?" he asked, nudging your head out from its hiding place.

With another nod of your head, Bradley grabbed your chin, quickly swiping your bottom lip out of its hold.

"Wanna hear you, please, baby," he begged, kissing your face sweetly. It was the exact opposite of how his other hand moved under your shirt, twisting and rubbing your pebbled nipples like they were his own special toys.

"Feels so good, Bradley," you said breathlessly. At the sound of his name falling from your lips, Bradley's hips jumped to meet the steady rhythm of yours. You yelped as he did so, but he was quick to capture your lips in another deep kiss, keeping his hips pressing harshly into your heat through the cotton of both your underwear.

"You're driving me crazy," he confessed, hand coming up to the hem of the old Navy shirt you were wearing. Looking to you for permission, you nodded wordlessly and felt the shirt being taken off your body.

Bradley threw the shirt across the patio and drove straight into your chest, taking one of your nipples between his lips. He lapped and sucked, feeling your hips roll with more urgency across his length at his ministrations.

"So beautiful, baby," he spoke in a low tone before switching to your other breast. One hand snaked around to hold onto your lower back, helping you with the drag. The other pinched at your now wet nipple softly.

"Bradley," you warned, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the combined feeling of his mouth, hands, and hips. The new pressure from the hand on your back was now pushing your hips in the perfect position, feeling his tip make contact with your clit through the cotton.

The man watched as you became consumed with pleasure, lip wobbling as your hips moved back and forth. He felt your fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, surely leaving marks.

His mouth popped off your nipple and made its way up to your open mouth, licking into it once again.

"Gonna come for me, baby? It's okay, I wanna feel you come. I'm right here," he spoke softly to you, watching your brows furrow and face twist.

The words and the intense look in Bradley's eyes made the tension in your tummy snap, hips moving fast to chase your high. You tried collapsing into your boyfriend, but with a firm hand that stayed on your jaw, you were forced upright, looking straight at Bradley as you came on his lap.

Your bare chest heaved as you came down from your high, pressing into Bradley's warm figure. His hand traveled from your lower back up to your hair, stroking it sweetly while placing soft kisses on your hairline.

"Can I feel you?" Bradley asked, fingers now toying with the lace on your underwear again.

"Yeah, but I wanna feel you too," you told him with a small smile on your face, bringing your fingers down to the waistband of his boxers. He chuckled at your actions, but still brought you into a sweet kiss.

Your hands pushed down his waistband and grasped his length in your hands. He was heavy in your hold, twitching as you rubbed a finger down the side of his member, tracing a prominent vein.

"So big," you whispered, more so to yourself, but the way Bradley's fingers moved to push into the front of your underwear made you think he must have heard you, too.

You felt one hand plant firmly on your waist while the other cupped your heat softly. His middle finger circled your entrance, rubbing little circles and spreading the wetness around, something that had you squirming in his hold. Bradley's thumb rubbed similar circles on your clit as you hunched over into his hold.

Your hands worked to rub at his tip, one hand coming up to your mouth to collect some spit, making the movements more fluid. Bradley shuddered as you found a steady pace, feeling your fingers continuously working over his sensitive head.

A finger pressed into your entrance, stretching you in an unfamiliar way. You whined into Bradley's neck at the feeling, tensing up for a moment. But he was quick to keep rubbing little circles against your nub, relaxing your muscles.

The finger pumped in and out of you at the same pace as your hand. Bradley's lips find your neck once more, now breathing heavier and lapping at more of your skin. As you ground down on him further, he moved to push another finger inside your wet entrance.

"Jesus, baby. Feel so fucking good around my fingers. Can't wait to have you on my dick," he groaned, feeling you clench and squeeze around his fingers. You moaned at his words, pushing further into him to rub your breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. Your nipples rubbed harshly against him as you moved your hand more quickly to keep up with the rhythm of his fingers.

"Need you, please, Bradley. Now," you gasped, feeling your stomach wind up again. He nodded at your words, pulling his fingers from your entrance and instead picking you up off his hips, pushing you up against the wood railing of the patio.

"This okay, baby? You okay with me taking you like this?" Bradley asked, referring to your back meeting his chest, taking you from behind. Your stomach jumped at his words as you braced your hands against the railing.

"Yes, please, Bradley." The words were barely off the tip of your tongue when you felt Bradley tug down your underwear, leaving you completely bare in the warm summer breeze. He quickly did the same with his own underwear, fully allowing his member to spring free and rub on your ass.

One of his large hands came to wrap around your hips while the other guided his cock into your entrance. Feeling your breathing pick up, Bradley placed sweet kisses on your neck before whispering, "Breathe for me, baby. I got you."

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled as Bradley pushed into you. It was only his tip at first, but the way you pushed your hips back at the feeling of him drove his hips further, pushing in fully.

Gasping at the stretch, your head lay back on Bradley's broad chest as he snuck his other hand around to toy with your tits. Your nipples were still sensitive from his actions earlier, so this only caused you to push further into his hold.

"Can I move? Are you okay? Need to hear you, talk to me, baby," Bradley told you, kissing the top of your head softly.

"Feels really good, please, Bradley. Need you to move," you complied, as he nodded, pressing his hips into you before drawing out and pushing in again.

You whine as he sets a steady pace. His hands roam all over your body, trying to grab onto every part of you. Your tits, your thighs, your throat. You feel your eyes cross once his thumb lands on your clit once more, squirming and crying out in a nonsensical plea.

Bradley watches as you start to fall apart on him. His hips are moving to piston his hard length into your warm heat, finding it hard not to fully bend you over the railing and have his way with you. Instead, setting a pace that had you crying out every few seconds, mouth open, and eyes closing at his deep movements.

The crude sounds of his hips meeting your ass were filthy and the loudest thing in contrast to the otherwise quiet night. The extra squelching sounds surely come from the previous orgasm you had. Bradley wondered what you tasted like, but he'd have to save it for next time.

"So good, feels so good. My pretty girl," Bradley groaned, head dropping to kiss along your exposed jaw line, hand pushing your tummy to arch you even further into his hold.

You moaned in response, feeling him deeper, feeling more pressure. "For you, only you, Bradley," you told him, head turning to capture his lips in a kiss.

Bradley felt a surge of energy at your words. His thumb worked in tighter circles against your clit, the kind that had you shaking earlier on the loveseat.

"Yeah? This is my pussy, baby? Gonna let me fill you up?" he asked, spit mixing with yours as he bit harshly on your bottom lip.

"Mhm, please. All yours," you cried out as his other hand came to hold across your hips, helping him push you to the edge by bending your frame even more than it already was. Your back arched away from Bradley as your hips and head pushed back to meet his solid body.

"Fuck, baby. Can't say shit like that," he scolded, but his hips kept pounding into you.

Bradley's filthy mouth was somewhat shocking to you. The only other time he had cursed around you was when he had stubbed his toes on the corner of your bed 3 weeks ago. So his words sent a chill down your spine despite the heat of the summer air.

Bradley's thumb stayed in its spot, working your clit and making you twitch and begin to thrash in his hold. But his other arm thrown around your hips made sure that you still felt his deep thrusts.

"Bradley," you breathed out, head tilting back to look at the man. Sweat dripped from his hairline, but he still moved to swoop down and catch you in a searing kiss.

"I got you, I got you. Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my dick." His words pushed you over the edge as he licked into your mouth once more after speaking. The constant rub from his thumb and deep thrusts had you shaking as you worked through your high with him.

Seeing the way your body tensed, your tits bouncing with every movement, and your thighs shaking, had Bradley releasing in you with a low groan. His hips canted into you, slowing down slightly with each thrust, only moving to help you both work through your respective highs.

He had neglected to turn on any porch lights to not alert any neighbors or even Ducky, but the way the moonlight streamed through the trees and painted your features was something Bradley wished he could remember forever. Your lips were still parted, taking labored breaths. Your eyes were glossy, like you were trying to focus and come back into your body. Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of rosy pink than he had ever seen on you before.

You were beautiful.

Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek, and he felt you smile against his lips.

"Feeling okay, that wasn't too much, pretty baby?" he asked, genuine concern making his brows furrow.

You moved a thumb up to smooth the creases, kissing him softly on the nose with a small giggle. "Felt really good, Bradley. Gonna need some help walking, for sure though."

He chuckled at this, kissing your lips this time, deep and slow.

"I can help with that," he told you as he pulled out, both of you wincing at the loss. He quickly picked you up bridal style and carried you into the house, only letting your feet touch the ground as he set you down on the edge of the guest room bathtub.

Bradley moved to start the water, running his fingers under it to make sure it wasn't too warm or too cold before plugging the tub.

His big hands came down to frame your face, fingers a little wet, but you leaned into his touch regardless. "Gonna go grab our stuff outside and start a pot of tea and come back, okay?" he asked, searching your eyes. You smiled at him, and he leaned down once more to capture your soft lips between his own, the brush of his mustache making you giggle into the kiss.

"I love you, Bradley," you told him, lip now pulled between your teeth as you looked sheepishly at him.

But the man smiled wider than you had ever seen as he began to pepper kisses all over your face and head. You giggled at this, hands coming up to hold his which still framed your face.

"I love you so much," he told you, coming down to peck your lips once more, but the sound of the whine made you and Bradley turn towards the entrance of the bathroom.

Ducky huffed, lying on the cool hardwood, making you and Bradley laugh.

He would’ve found that amusing. He would’ve teased you about acing so cool and collected, right up until you were staring down the barrel of a gun. There hadn’t been a trip of your heartbeat, or stumble in your breath. Lives depended on you being able to do this.

And they depended on you being able to keep your head down.

You’d gotten good at it. Before him, it had been your job to keep calm and collected. Doctors couldn’t be panicking and crying over everything, or nothing would ever get done.

“What about when something’s real fucking gross and sticky?” He used to ask you. “You allowed to cry then?”

You’d smiled at the dishes in your hands. “Would you cry over something gross and sticky?”

“No, because I’m not a-“

“Fucking pussy.”

You’d dropped your voice to mock his, your smile becoming stupid and ditzy as the chair had scraped on the floor behind you. Riling him up was too easy. And if he didn’t want you to keep poking all his old, shiny buttons, he shouldn’t make it so damn fun.

“You got a mouth on you, doll.” Ben had muttered in your ear, arms wrapping around your stomach.

“Hm.” You hadn’t stopped washing the dishes. He’d rip them away from you soon, you might as well focus on what you can.

“Hm? All you got to say is hm?”

“I think you like my mouth.” You’d swayed on your feet, shrugging lazily.

Ben’s arms had tightened around you. “I like somethin’ about your mouth.”

“You like all of it. You like me so much, you chose weed over me, you think I’m better than weed-“

Your dishes had clattered into the sink. Ben spun you around, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them to the counter as he slammed his mouth of yours. You’d made a happy sound, craning your neck to try and chase more, and he’d chuckled. Soft, light kisses had been trailed down your jaw and over your throat, landing on a spot that seemed to be permanently dark since you’d met him.

He’d bitten at the skin, then sucked, letting his tongue flick slightly. Before him, you hadn’t even known you were into that. Now you can’t even graze the spot without your body getting fuzzy and confused. Like it knows he’s supposed to be there.

But he’s not.

“You’re lucky I like you.” Ben had muttered. “And you’re not a genius to figure that out, I think I’ve made it real fucking clear.”

You’d beamed at the air, wrapping an arm around his neck when he released one wrist. His massive hand had grabbed your waist, slipping fingers under the hem of the shirt. You’d shivered, and leaned into his mouth.

He’d been solid. Safe. And you’d been so foolishly sure that he was going to be there forever.

“You have.” You’d breathed.

And you’d really believed it.

But then he’d just… Left.

You’d woken up the next morning, and he’d been off with William Butcher to deal with Homelander. He’d failed, on both the being with William Butcher front and the deal with Homelander front. They’d said he had died. You’d sunken into something like a ghost, wandering through the world without touching anything, passing through days like they were all just a veil to something else.

There were regrets. Not demanding that he stay. Not kicking him out the first time he ended up on your doorstep. Talking to him that first night at the corner store at all, because at least then your heart would’ve still been beating instead of this hollow, gray husk.

But you also wouldn’t have traded him for the world. The time had been fleeting. Only a few splatters of paint on what had previously been a clean, respectable life.

You’d found out you liked being dirty. You liked all the color it came with, and you’d liked how Ben had held your hand through the whole thing. You don’t know why he had. You don’t even know why he’d liked you, why he’d bothered coming back over and over, why he’d decided that you—of all the many, more interesting, more carefree people in the world—were the one he wanted to share himself with.

“You shouldn’t eat those.” You’d told the strange, handsome man at one in the morning.

He’d looked at you like you were crazy. You’d blinked innocently back—a faint bell in your head, ringing that he looked familiar, and you should’ve listened to it—and he’d raised his brows.

“You talking to me?”

“Um,” you’d looked around the aisle. “Yeah? Who else would I be talking to.”

The man had grunted. His eyes hadn’t left yours for a second, and he’d been staring like he was trying to peel you apart. You’d started to feel all dizzy under the attention—he was very pretty, and pretty people shouldn’t stare like that—and shifted on your feet.

“There are studies.” You’d said lamely. “About those drinks. They give you cancer.”

“Cancer?” The man had snorted. “Doll, I’m not worried about fucking cancer-“

“You should be. It’s linked to pancreatic cancer, which is very- Fast spreading.” All your usual, well performed confidence had been wavering. Why had he been staring at you like that. “Because of the pancreases function in, um, your body, it’s basically- It’s fast spreading-“

“You said that already.”

You’d swallowed. His voice was very deep. “Oh.”

His eyes had shined with something that, in the moment, you hadn’t understood.

Now you know it to his form of affection. When he’d look at you and decided that you were real fucking cute, like a twitchy bunny—his words—and wanted to have more.

In the store, you’d hadn’t  been sure if he was going to murder you or make an indecent proposal.

He hated that movie. You’d made him watch it, a few weeks later, and he’d been furious she chose the penniless sad sack. You’d told him you’d chose him, if he was the penniless sad sack. He’d grumbled that he hoped you’d have better survival instincts than that, but you’d been able to read him by now. He’d liked that a lot, and you had the hickies after to prove it.

And he’d laughed.

That night, he’d just laughed.

“You some kind of a fucking doctor?”

“Yeah.” You’d said, nervous and small. “I- I am.”

The man had blinked. Looked over you like he was seeing you for the first time, and leaned back as if the sight punched him in the face. You’d still been wearing your scrubs. Later you’d tease him about not paying attention.

He’d say he’d just been that enraptured by your beauty. You’d flush, and tell him he was using that word wrong. He’d say he didn’t fucking care, and kiss you until you were stupid and giggling.

“What’s good?” He’d jerked his head at the drinks, and you pointed to a different can a shelf over.

He’d eyed you suspiciously, but grabbed it and stomped away. You’d thought he’d be gone when you paid for your own food and walked to the parking lot. Instead he’d been waiting at the counter, watching you with that same, wearily curious expression.

“Are you going to stalk me to my car?” You’d asked causally, careful not to look him in the eyes.

He’d grunted. “I’m escorting you. Stalking makes me sound like I’m some fucking creep-“

“You’re a stranger who’s going to follow me to my car. I should be calling 911.”

“911 couldn’t stop me, sweetheart.”

You’d paused, frowning at him. He’d rolled his eyes, looking around the store like he expected a camera crew to pop out and tell him the whole thing was a prank.

“Don’t call 911.” He’d muttered.

“Why shouldn’t I.”

“Cause I’m not going to fucking hurt you, that’s why-“

“And why should I trust that?”

He’d blinked. That thought hadn’t occurred to him at all.

“I swear I won’t.”

“Promises mean nothing.”

“My promises mean something-“

“Not to me, they don’t.”

He’d stared at you. You’d tipped up your chin, and held his gaze. You were not going to be murdered in a parking lot tonight. You’d ordered new pants last night, and you wanted to be alive to see them.

The man had caved before you. He hadn’t been happy about it, but you’d come to learn that he was never openly happy about anything. There was his genuine annoyance, and his fluffy annoyance. Where he didn’t mean a single groan or eye roll or muttered curse.

He saved that second one for you. And he hated that you called it fluffy annoyance, because he wasn’t ‘fucking fluffy’. But you’d tell him that you liked him fluffy, as long as it was just yours. And he’d said he was just yours, and he’d promised, and you’d learned how to believe him.

“My name is Ben.” He’d told you, reaching into his jacket. “And if I try to hurt you, use this.”

And he’d handed you a fucking gun. The poor cashier that had been listening to all of this shrieked and ducked behind the counter. You’d gaped at Ben, then smacked his arm.

“What the fuck-“

“You can’t just pull out a gun, are you crazy!”

“Don’t call me crazy, I’m trying to make you feel- Fucking better or whatever-“

“How is a gun going to make me feel better, I’m a doctor-“

“So you can stitch me up after you shoot me, all the fucking better-“

“I am not going to shoot you-“

“But you could, that’s what the damn gun is for-“

“I don’t want your gun, I just-“ You’d cut yourself, glancing at the shaking cashier. It had just been some high school kid. He didn’t deserve to deal with this.

And even then, some part of you had known. Ben was a lot of things. Most of them weren’t half as pretty as his face.

But he wasn’t a liar. He’d realty thought the gun would make you feel better.

Later, you’d learn that it had really only been meant to make you feel better. Literally. That if he had been intending to hurt you—which he hadn’t, as he reminded you all the time—the gun wouldn’t have done fucking shit to stop that. But he’d thought it would help you be less nervous. And as much as you’d punch his dumb, big chest after he told you, you had to admit that the plan had—in a very roundabout way—worked.

“Come on.” You’d turned on your heels and walked out of the store.

Ben had followed.

And for a strange, priceless month, you’d known that if you looked over your shoulder, he’d be there. It had become a comfort. It had become the best thing in your life.

Then it had been gone.

Ben had left you, and the world had only gotten darker from there.

So you have all these regrets, that you pile on top of your secret. And they tell you to be more careful. You haven’t been on a date since Ben, although you never even technically dated. You’d never even fucked. It had been a lot of kisses and sharing a bed and wandering hands. Ben had asked. He’d asked all the time, and always sighed dramatically when you said after. After he was done with Butcher. After he dealt with Homelander, he could have whatever he wanted from you.

It was already his for the taking, he just needed to reach it.

And now all of you sat on a high, dusted shelf, waiting for hands that would never reach it.

Now, you’re careful.

After that girl down the hall, there had been the couple on the side of the highway. They’d been trying to hide from Black Noir, but one of them had an infected cut and was getting a fever. You’d treated it, then been on your way.

Then there had been the little boy who’s parents had been taken, and the shrapnel in his foot. The older woman who’s son had been shot, and the people who’d been hit in collateral and didn’t have insurance. And you kept helping and helping and helping, but always with your head down. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t help at all. It draws attention. Attention begs for investigation. Investigation undercovers secrets, and Ben had always been very clear.

No one could know who you are. What you were to him.

Why you have that gun in your closet, unloaded and kept clean like an heirloom. It wouldn’t be hard to trace it to Ben. It wouldn’t take a long time—especially for Sage, who you’ve only seen once from afar but sent a chilling fear through your bones all the same—to realize why you had one of Soldier Boy’s guns. To look at cameras and place timelines and know. What you’d meant to him.

Part of you wants her to. Maybe she’d be able to tell you, after.

Because he hadn’t stayed for you. And you hadn’t been foolish enough to ask him to.

But still.

You’d hoped he would.

“We should go somewhere.” He’d muttered one night, lying flat on his back.

And you’d looked at him in the dark, and found him staring back. He’d always been staring back.

“When this is done.” Ben had reached over, grabbing your wrist. He did that when he needed your attention. You don’t think he ever knew that he had all of you, whether he wanted to grab it or not.

“Done?” You’d breathed. Ben had nodded.

“The whole thing. All of it. I’m not going back into acting and shit, everything is bad now anyway-“

“You liked Paddington 2-“

“Shhh.” Ben had covered your mouth, eyes shining. “Can’t fucking prove that, can you, doll.”

You’d shrugged smiling against his hand. Ben had leaned down until your brows were pressed together, and let out a slow, heavy breath.

“We’ll go.” He’d said it like a secret. Like even in the empty room, you were still the only person he wanted anything to do with in the world. “Anywhere in the world that you want. No more of this fucking bullshit. Just you and me.”

And you’d giggled. You’d pulled his hand away with a laugh, and kissed his adorable little frown.

“You like me so much.” You’d whispered.

Ben had only stared. His heavy sigh had fanned over your cheeks, and he’d kissed the space between your eyes.

“You got no idea.”

And you wish you had.

You wish you’d asked him to stay, but you keep that buried with the rest of it. You don’t want to think about how if you had, he might’ve.

If you had, he might still be next to you today.

You broke a cup.   

The TV in the breakroom is always on, but you usually just spare it passing glances. Since Homelander’s takeover, it mostly just plays Firecracker’s stupid propaganda show, or reruns of old Vought movies with Starlight’s scenes cut out. It makes for a clonky, confusing storyline. Sometimes you watch it when you’re bored, if only to feel a ghost of a smile.

Other days, they play Ben’s old movies. And you can’t stand to listen to those. Just his voice makes you shiver and look around the room, as if he might materialize and grin at you the same way he always did. Like in his eyes, everything just narrowed down to you. The walls existed to hold you and everything around the room was a noise or blockade that needed to be moved, so he could be at your side.

I’d swim in the ocean for you, doll. He’d told you one. You’d laughed. He’d meant it to be romantic, but he’d just sounded annoyed about it, and it had been so stupidly sweet you’d fallen a little more in love with him. But love with Ben had always come like that. In slow drips that built up and up and up, until there was a bucket to be doused over your head and you had to understand.

That he had been everything.

You’d known too late. The downpour had come with the news of his death, when every light had become too bright, and all the color in the world had been washed out to nothing. You hadn’t been able to tell your co-workers why you’d stumbled and started to whine like a lost dog. Why you’d needed the week off, because your legs had turned to lead and it was too hard to get out of bed.

And you’re not going to be able to explain this, either.

Why you hear his voice, look up at the TV on an instinct you’re never going to be able to squash, and drop your cup.

It shatters all over the floor. The two nurses at the table shoot up to help, one saying something about walking carefully over the broken glass, but you don’t hear it.

There’s only the ringing in your ears, and—rising above it all—Ben’s voice.

This isn’t old footage. You’d know. You’ve watched every video and listened to every archived radio interview, just trying to hold onto what you could.

No.

This is new.

Which means Ben- He’s alive.

He’s on the TV. Standing next to Homelander with a bored, unimpressed expression, hands on his belt, looking the exact same as he day he left you.

He left you.

It wasn’t death that took him. He’s right there, instead of at your side. His gaze is just as intense as before, and he holds himself with the same confident, lazy posture, and his mouth stays in the pretty, downturned line that you always loved grabbing up and pulling into a smile.

He’d grab your wrists, but not move you away. He’d ask what you thought you were doing, but he already knew. You’d beam and kiss his nose. He’d pretend to bite yours, and you’d dissolve into giggles and wrap around him like a koala. He’d tell you he didn’t know what he was going to do with you. You’d call him a liar. Say he knew perfectly well what he wanted to do with you. And he’d grumble, because you teased him so much without ever actually throwing him a bone.

You always reminded him there were plenty of other women out there who would happily want his bone. You’d wink, and he’d give you that adoring, exasperated look.

He’d say he didn’t care about any other bones but yours. You’d say that you were both losing the metaphor.

Ben would say he didn’t fucking care, and flip you under him. You’d lose track of time. Of the movie you were supposed to be watching. Of the world.

And then he left.

Just left.

Wasn’t taken. Ben just… Left. After telling you so many sweet thing, after making so many promises, he just left. And now he’s back.

But not back with you.

Your hand is bleeding. You tried to pick up some of the glass, and it sliced along your palm. You barely even feel it. A part of you was already bleeding all over the floor anyways.

He didn’t come back.

Ben couldn’t fucking find you.

He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to go up to any of these weird little pussies and ask them where you were. He didn’t need them to know you existed. No one needed to know you existed but Ben himself.

Before he chased after Butcher, he’d gone to your apartment. And he’d been a fucking idiot with this picture in his head, where he’d knock on the door and you’d been thrilled to see him. He’d sweep you off your feet, and you’d be crying with joy, then he’d fuck you and carry you far, far away from here. 

But he’d knocked. And knocked. And shouted your name, but no one had answered the fucking door.

He’d broken in. You’d be mad about that, if you were with him. That was the kind of thing that got him a stern finger and snapped Benjamin like he was a damn dog being scolded for pissing on the couch.

Don’t kill that guy who’s harassing me, Benjamin. Don’t pick up that car in my parking spot and throw it across the street. Don’t punch the dickheaded dumbass who cat called me, it’s fine, it happens all the time.  

It was real fucking cute when you got all mouthy and angry with him, as if there was a damn thing you could do about it.

Although he had always listened.

But it was real hard to tell you no. Or upset you. Or do anything that made your voice all thick and eyes all watery and sad. Ben had a lot of fantasies about your wobbling lips and sad little kicked kitten eyes—the ones you gave him when he was gone for longer than he said he’d be, or had very fucking reasonably verbally threated the men who’d been giving you a hard time—but none of them involved you being sad. They were all about how pretty you looked like that, and how nice it would be to see that gorgeous sight without feeling so fucking bad about it.

His heart squeezed uncomfortably, when he made you upset or nervous. It was incredibly fucking annoying. When it had first happened, he’d decided he needed to keep you close. To figure out what the fuck you were—what supe or Russian spy had been sent after him—so he could neutralize you.

Then you’d just been a person. And Ben had to deal with the fact that his dumbass fucking heart just did that for you. It didn’t do that for anyone else, and he’d been alive a damn long time.

He’d been angry about it, for about ten seconds.

And then you’d smiled at him.

He’d decided that as long as you were smiling, there wasn’t much to be angry about in the whole fucking world.

There were things to be angry about now, though.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t there. Ben had kicked down your apartment door and found it empty. Bare.

Hollow.

Something inside of him had split and become so fucking hollow. He’d ripped up the floorboards and checked in the vents. He’d punched a hole in the wall and roared your name, but you’d been gone.

Someone had to have taken you. You’d always been to smart and kind, you might’ve said something truthful and gotten dragged off to one of Homelander’s stupid camps for it.

If you were dead, Ben was going to break some shit. A lot of shit. Namely, Homelander’s fucking skull between his hands.

And if you were alive, he’d still probably do that anyways. For hiding you and hurting you. He’d just be faster about it. You didn’t need to see that shit, and the moment Ben had you again he wasn’t going to let go for a damn second.

He just had to find you first.

Ben had been good at investigating, in his day. But shit had also been simpler. There hadn’t been Sage hanging over his shoulder and watching him like a very annoying hawk. That Firecracker girl hadn’t been trying to hit on him—a shame, because his dick was sore, but his hands hurt even trying to touch someone else so he shut it down fast—and Homelander hadn’t been whining like a little fucking bitch baby all the damn time.

All these damn computers with their fucking passcodes and weird words didn’t help either. Ben spent an hour trying to break into one, then physically broke it, and all the others in the lab.

The Fish-Fucker walked in on him. Ben narrowed his eyes, and the pussy paled and raised shaking hands.

“Hey, dude, I didn’t see anything-“

“You know how to open a computer?” Ben barked, and Fish-Fucker blinked.

“Uhh… You mean log into one?” Fish-Fucker laughed, high and weak. “Yeah, bro, I know how to log in to a computer, who doesn’t know how to-“

He cut himself off as Ben’s jaw ticked, going even paler. He even looked like a fish.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean- You shouldn’t kill me! I can log in, I can find whatever you want-“

“Shut up.” Ben raised a hand, and the Fish-Fucker fell silent. “You know how to keep your mouth shut?”

“Yes. Yes- Sir-“

“Open it.” Ben pointed at the computer, and Fish Fucker scrambled forward.

He grabbed the back of the pussies neck before he could sit down, dropping his voice to a hiss.

“You tell anyone about this, I stuff you up like a fuck doll and turn you into fucking chow, you got that?”

Fish-Fucker nodded, throat bobbing and body twitching all pathetically. Ben let him go, and stood back up.

“Good. I got a name for you to look up.”

Fish-Fucker laughed nervously, nodding as he hit his fingers all over the keyboard. “More revenge, sir?”

“No.” Ben muttered, clasping his hand in front of him.

Revenge isn’t going to help, Ben. You’d told him that over and over again, but you’d also run your fingers through his hair and told him you wouldn’t stop him. He’d asked you if you’d still be there when he came back with blood on his hands. He’d meant it to be teasing, a thing he used to say to old lovers to test how much they could handle. They’d always giggled and rolled their eyes like they thought it was a damn joke. You’d tipped your head at him, eyes sharp and bright, and sighed.

You’d told him he’d need to take a shower, first.

And Ben had known. 

“What is it, then?” Fish-Fucker asked, and Ben didn’t bother to answer.

That wasn’t for anyone to know but him. You weren’t for anyone to know. Not these horrible, weak people who would hurt you and use you against him.

Your face popped up on the screen. The smiling photo that you’d used on social media—you’d taught him what that was, and he didn’t fucking care for it but he sure as hell liked seeing pictures of you—and a link to your profile at that hospital you’d worked at.

You still worked there. You weren’t gone.

Ben’s heart did a little flutter. He ignored it. That kind of gooey shit could be saved for after he found you.

“Who is she?” Fish-Fucker peered at your photo. Ben should pop his eyeballs out of his damn skull. “A Starlighter?”

Ben grunted. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

Fish-Fucker said something else. Ben didn’t listen to it.

He had to go find you.

You get home, and you feel like nothing.

It’s been two weeks, since you found out Ben was alive. Two long weeks where time dragged you through the mud and you had to learn how to keep your heart beating.

You pulled out the gun every night. You’d never shoot it—you didn’t even have ammunition—but you’d needed to hold it. To cling to proof that it hadn’t all been a dream. He’d been here. He’d given you part of him to keep.

Then he’d decided you weren’t worth the rest.

You’d thought, like a naïve, lovesick school girl, that you were going to be worth the rest.

You kick off your shoes, and go straight for the gun again. You lie on the floor, because it’s cold and that forces you to stay awake. You haven’t been sleeping properly, and when you pass out from exhaustion you don’t wake up well rested. It all hurts. It always hurts, and you don’t think it’s ever going to not hurt again.

You close your eyes, hugging the gun tight to your chest. Tears are burning behind your eyes again. You’d been hoping you’d run out, but you feel the hot shame of one sliding down your cheek. A broken sob rattles through your chest, and you’ve given up on fighting it.

This is just always going to hurt.

“I didn’t give you that so you could shoot yourself, doll.”

You scream. Your hands fly before you can think, scrambling to grab the gun. Some scratch in the back of your head knows that a bad idea, and drum in your chest demands that it’s bad idea, but you’re tired and afraid. You thought you were alone, and you’re not, so you aim the gun straight at the man standing in your door.

Ben grabs it like he’s taking a toy from a toddler. He takes out the empty clip and examines it with a frown, his hair flopping over his face. You’re breathing so shallow you think you might have passed out. You’ve had a lot of dreams about him since he left. You’ve just finally gone off the deep-end, and now they’re hallucinations.

“Hm. Not loaded.” Ben tosses the clip off to the side, shooting you a smirk. “Good girl.”

You don’t know if you scream again, or crawl to him on your knees. He sounds real. He looks real. He’s smiling at you like he never left, like you hadn’t pour every piece of yourself out to make room for the swelling grief of his absence. If you reach out, you think you’d find solid muscle and warmth. A heart that beats under your fingers, in a rhythm you always hear when you close your eyes. Ben would cover your hand with his own, holding onto your wrist the same way he did before. Like he wanted to tie you together. Like he could never bear to let go.

Or you’d just pass right through thin air.

And everything you have left would dissolve with the illusion.

You wrap your arms tight around your stomach, drawing your knees to your chest. You know this is fear. You know Ben thinks fear is weak, but he’s never looked at you and said you were anything but his.

Then he left.

And you’re not anyone’s anymore.

Ben says your name, and you swallow. He sounds so real.

“Ben?” You whisper.

A familiar smile ghosts over his lips. It terrifies you.

“Me.” He murmurs, tossing the gun onto the couch without breaking your gaze. “Hey, doll.”

He takes a step forward.

You push back, pressing yourself into a small ball on the floor.

Ben freezes. His brow furrows, and his lips press in a tight, thin line. He reaches out. And you don’t want to touch him and know he’s not real.

You shrink away.

“How did you get in.” You whisper, fixing your gaze on his knees.

“You didn’t lock the door.” Ben grunts. “Which we gotta talk about later, that’s not fucking safe, but first-“

He says your name, reaching once more, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Strong, warm fingers grab your chin. You make a tiny noise from the back of your throat, and for a split second, the whole world goes still.

You can feel him. He’s tipping your chin up, handling you like a baby bird even as he angles it how he wants, and you can feel him.

“Look at me.” Ben mutters, and you drag your eyes open.

He’d kneeling in front of you, brow furrowed tight. There’s that look again. The one that makes you naked and exposed, your clothing sticking to your skin and every inch of you seen.

Ben sees you. You can see him.

And either you’d fully lost your mind, or he’s… He’s really…

“You’re here.” You breathe. “You’re real.”

Ben’s eyes snap to yours. His frown deepens.

“’Course I’m real, why the hell wouldn’t I be real.”

“You left.”

And something flashes over his features. It’s furious and loud, but not directed at you. His fingers on your chin don’t even flex.

“I didn’t leave.” He grunts, the words pushed through his teeth. “I told you I’d never fucking leave you.”

Your tongue flicks over your lips. You shake your head.

“I saw you on TV.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, those weird fuckin’ attention sluts love a camera-“

“You were there, Ben.” You cut him off with only a whisper. “Not here. I- I thought you were dead.”

The stupid tears are back. And they always blur the whole world, but Ben remains sharp. Of course he does. Bastard.

“I waited.” Your voice breaks. Ben watches you, his jaw clenched tight. “I thought you were dead and I still waited, and you- You were just on TV-“

“Don’t say it like that, it’s- That’s not what this shit is-“

“You left.” 

“No, I didn’t-“

“You left me.” You scream, and Ben blinks.

It’s like every bit of pain, every scrape and open wound you’ve been treating with paper band-aides, Ben’s ripped everything wide open. Your tears are falling freely, your voice high and soft as you struggle to breathe, all the grief and anger at him crashing from your mouth in unforgiving waves.

“You left me, you said you’d come back, you said we’d go anywhere and you’d be here and you- You fucking left me here and I- I-“

Your word crack into a body-shaking sob, and you try to slump away from him. To just sink into the floor where he can’t see your weakness, your crying, every fissure in the mask you’re usually so good at keeping together. You don’t want him to see the rawness underneath. The way that you’ve always been ill-matched, because there’s nothing in Ben that even knows how to break, but you’re like an gastropod. Every bit of armor is borrowed and crafted. Under it, you’re nothing for him.

Weak.

“You left me.” You’re still breathing it out. You can’t stop. “You left.”

Ben sighs. And when he gets up and walks away, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to find a way to be okay, even if that means just having this gaping feeling forever.

But Ben doesn’t leave.

He wraps around you, and you wiggle a little, but he doesn’t let go. He pulls you fully into his lap, and you go limp. Your face presses into his chest, tears flowing freely with every shaking, silent sob. Ben rubs your back, holding you steady. And despite yourself, you hold on. You sink in your nails where you never should’ve let go, and you hold on.

His heartbeat hasn’t changed. And everything in your still recognizes it.

Still calls it yours.

“Didn’t run.” He mutters once your breathing has evened, tangling his fingers in your hair. “Butcher turned on me, helped Homelander and that Maeve bitch knock me off the tower. Got put back under. Homelander woke me up. And the first fucking thing I did was start looking for you, but you weren’t where I left you.”

You swallow. You’d moved because you couldn’t stand that apartment without him. You turned every corner and expected him to be there. It was pure torture.

“But I found you.” Ben continues. “I fucking found you. And I’m not going again, doll. We’re leaving, together, and that’s it.”

Ben tugs on your head, and you let him pull you back. He’s not crying—you’d be shocked if he knew how—but there’s a heavy light in his eyes, like a lamp that’s begging to be bright enough to be seen. You reach up to trace his jaw. His eyes close for a second, and he leans into the touch.

Your throat bobs. Your voice is still small.

“Why should I believe you?”

Ben’s eyes shoot open, glinting and sharp. Not dangerous. Never to you.

Just focused.

“Because I’m telling the fucking truth-“

“Swear it?”

Ben nods, and you tilt your head.

“You swore you’d come back.”

“And I am back.” He grabs your wrist, keeping your hand to his face. “No promises got broken, doll. And I’m not fucking leaving without you.”

You laugh, something in you breaking and fusing together all at once. Like glass, burning before it gets to be something beautiful. Something that can let the light in.

“Don’t say that.” You breathe, holding his gaze. “I’ll believe you.”

Ben’s eyes narrow. He leans over you, that attention as unwavering as always, and suddenly there’s nowhere to hide. Not that you ever could. Not from him.

“You think I’m not serious?” He murmurs, low and dangerous.

You don’t flinch. You never have.

“Prove that you are.”

A deep sound rumbles from Ben’s chest. He lets go of his hand, his own flying up to frame your face. Your breath hitches, right as his lips slam against yours.

You’ve kissed Ben many times. He always does it like it’s going to be the last time he ever touches you. He’s demanding in how much you take, but never how much you give. Your mouth falls open in a moan, and he grunts, hauling you up his chest to deepen the kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, your fingers scrambling against his shirt to keep steady, but he doesn’t falter for a single second.

“Be- Ben-“

He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing as his teeth drag over your swollen lips.

“Ben-“

“That’s right.” He grunts. “Say my name, I know you didn’t forget who fuckin’ owns you.”

God, you should shove him for that. But he knows what it does to you. He smirks, when your thighs clench and a soft whine escapes your lips.

Ben lands a sharp slap on your ass. It makes you keen, collapsing over his chest. You’re pulling at him, kisses uncoordinated and desperate—how did you ever survive without this, you’re not sure—as you try to further a kiss that’s already fusing you together by the mouth.

He doesn’t even come up for air.

“Oh- Fuck, Ben-“

He speaks against your lips, voice rolling in his chest. 

“I know, doll. You believe me now, don’t you.”

“Ye- Yes-“

Another slap. This time he lets his hand drag lower, teasing over the crease between your thighs, then the hem of your shorts. Your hips buck into the featherlight touch. Ben grunts, short and tight.

“Dirty girl.” He mutters, starting to wander his kisses over your cheeks. “Say it louder. You fucking believe me.”

“I- Ooooh-“

You press your face into his neck, biting down a moan. The tips of his fingers are tracing your pussy through your shorts. You sink your nails into his shoulders, your breathing ragged as he starts to trace them back and forth.

“You what?” He teases, nipping at your ear. “Heard you start to say something doll, you already that stupid? I’m barely fucking touching you.”

“You- You’re touching enough.” You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut. “More- Please-“

“More?” Ben snorts. “You’re always getting me on that fucking feelings shit, you don’t get more until you talk.”

You shake your head. “Ben, I- I can’t-“

“Can’t what? Can’t speak? Can’t say Ben, I believe you. ‘Cause trust me doll, when you do I’m going to touch you for real, and you’ll feel real fucking stupid for how you’re acting right now.”

Ben rips clean through your shorts, and thick, warm fingers start to rub the lips of your pussy. He scissors two fingers, pressing them just upside your core, then dragging back and forth. It’s all pressure and not enough friction. It’s going to drive you out of your mind.

“Come on, baby, where’d all that fucking spunk go-“

“You- Benjamin-“

“Uh oh.” He laughs. “I’m in trouble.”

The tips of his fingers graze your clit. You whine, grinding back into the touch, and Ben grabs your pussy with a single hand. He’s covering it completely, pinning you to his chest, and you moan so loud you think it echoes.

“Think you’re going to forgive me?” He mutters in your ear. “Think I’m not dead fuckin’ serious, when I tell you that I’m back. That I want you, all of you, and I’d kill people to have it.”

“I- I don’t want you to kill anyone.” You breathe, dazed and drunken on him.

Ben chuckles, kissing right under your jaw.

“I know you don’t, pretty girl. And I’ll go on the damn leash if you’re yanking me, but I’m not letting you drop me. We go, we go together, you fucking remember that. We get out. You gonna get out with me?”

“Ben-“

“I’ll take care of you.” He mutters. His hand starts to move again, torturously slow. “I’ll be real fucking good to you, swear it. Swear it on you.”

Two fingers slide over your pussy, spreading your arousal on his fingertips. A slow, breathless sigh of escapes your lips, and Ben lets you have this. He teases those fingers over your cunt a few times, then slowly pushes one of them in. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. Just his finger is the biggest stretch of your life.

“I know.” He kisses under your ear, pressing it further in until he’s at the knuckle. “It’s a lot, isn’t it. But you’re doin’ so fucking well. Sweet fucking pussy, all wet and tight for me.”

“Mmmh.”

“Say it’s for me.” He demands, crooking them so they hit a soft little button you’re never able to find yourself.

“Ben-“

“Say it.”

“S’ for you-“ You take in a sharp breath, when he starts to slowly pump them in and out. “All for you, Ben, I- I’m all-“

Your words break into a moan. He’s pressing back against that same spot, rubbing it until you’re squeezing around him before drawing shallowly out and slamming back in. Obscene sounds fill the room, and you didn’t even know you could get this wet.

It’s a grace. Ben’s finger is massive. You can feel every drag of him inside you, and you’re not sure how you’re managing to take it when you keep squeezing around him.

“How- How big is your dick?”

He barks a laugh, pulling your face back with his hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you slowly, matching the pace of his fingers moving inside you.

“You’ll see, baby.” He says. “Just need to be good.”

You pout slightly. “I am being good.”

Ben’s lips twitch. He kisses your forehead, then suddenly speeds his fingers up. Your back arches, hips grinding as you try to chase the feeling, but he holds you firm.

“Ben-“

“Say it.” He grunts, squeezing the back of your neck. “You wanna be so fucking good, say it-“

“I love you!” Your words come sudden and desperate. “I- I love- I love you, please-“

You almost scream, when his fingers stop moving. You grab his wrist, blinking in hopeless confusion. Ben’s jaw is clenched tight, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

Then you realize.

Shit.

“Ben, I- I didn’t-“

“You didn’t mean it?” He grunts, and you shake your head frantically.

“I didn’t mean to- I just- I missed you, and you said- And you were-“ You gesture frantically at his hand. His fingers, still buried deep inside you. “And I- You don’t have to-“

Ben moves, and your words turn into a squeal. You’re airborne, being tossed over his shoulder as he stands.

“Fuck- Benjamin, what are you-“

He slaps your ass, then drags two fingers back through your pussy. You close your eyes, biting your lower lip to stifles the moan at the perfect combo of pleasure and pain.

Ben spanks you again, his voice stern as he moves to his feet.

“Don’t fucking do that quiet shit. Let me hear you.”

His finger pushes back into your cunt, finding that spongey spot in a second. This time you let yourself moan fully, and you’re rewarded with a scraping kiss on your ass.

“There you go, baby. That’s what I want.”

You keen at the praise, and you don’t know why you bothered hiding it from him. Ben feels and see the flutter of your pussy and chuckles. Your knees are dragged together, forcing more pressure, making you tighter around his finger when he shoves it back in.

“Be- Ben-“ Your getting light-headed, from the combination of his touch and being upside down. “What- What’re we doing-“

“You’re telling me where the bedroom is.” He grunts, turning in a circle like a magic sign is going to appear. “Then I’m fucking you ‘till you can’t walk.”

“Oh- Okay.”

You grab a fistful of his shirt as he slaps your ass again, moaning when that fucking finger starts to pump once more. There’s a pressure building in your core, and the way he’s holding you is only making it worse. Like you’re just a toy, but still the most important thing in his life. He keeps kissing your thigh and ass while he fingerfucks you. Your exposed to the cold air, the window is open, but the warmth of his hand and body—the warmth of what he’s doing to you—is almost too much to handle.

“Bed, doll.” His reminder is gruff, but soft.

You nod, your tongue all loose and hopeless. “I- I um- It was- That way-“

You press on his shoulder, steering him towards the door and Ben slaps your pussy.

“Good girl.”

The praise and touch shoot through you like a drug. You think you might be about to cum just like this. Over Ben’s shoulder with barely any friction at all.

He kicks the door open, and marches into your room. You’ve never seen him so focused before. He lays you down on the bed with shocking care, before ripping at your clothing like a child on Christmas.

Ben whistles, when you’re fully exposed to him.

“Look at you, baby, can’t believe I was sleeping next to you for months and you wouldn’t let me touch.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your breasts. “You didn’t earn touching. Only good, domesticated boys get that.”

Ben scowls, pulling off his shirt. “I’m a domesticated fucking man, doll.”

And you giggle. Because he’s so fucking stupid, but he’s here. You’d cry if there wasn’t a helium filled light, blooming through your body.

You still might cry.

Ben’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind—and like he doesn’t care the slightest, he’s just mostly concerned—and you laugh more because you’re definitely going to cry. You’re going to cry during sex with Soldier Boy, and he’s still going to fuck you anyway. 

“You know it’s not nice to start fucking laughing before a man takes his pants off-“

“I love you.”

You say it plainly, because it is. You love Ben. You have for so long, and it had been buried like treasure, but now he’s here. Now it gets to shine, and it’s far too bright to be ignored.

Ben looks shell-shocked. He’s panting like you punched him, but you’re not worried. He’s a big boy. He’ll be okay.

You both will.

“I love you,” you repeat, beaming up at him. “I love you so much, Ben, I-“

You giggle again, as he almost stumbles forward to kiss you. His massive chest envelops you, his kisses pushing you back into the mattress, and you meet him with everything you have.

Ben pulls back. Staring at you the same way he always has.

Like he’s found the last, greatest wonder of the world.

“Say it again.” He mutters.

“I love you.”

You offer it easily. It’s his to have.

And Ben seems to swallow it. His mouth closes, his tongue flicking over his lips, and you know that face.

It means he’s on a fucking mission.

“Here’s how this is going.” He grunts, fixing you with a glare. “You listen. I work. I’m tasting you,” he slaps your pussy again, lips twitching at the full body shutter it gives him. “Then you’re going to cum on my cock until you’re sobbing, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you can’t walk. You got that.”

You swallow and nod. Ben’s eyes narrow.

“You talk to me, sweetheart, I can’t read your fucking mind.”

“Got it.” You breathe, your legs spreading wide.

It’s a shameless offering. Ben slaps your pussy again, and you buck a little of the bed with a whine of delight.

“Hold onto something.” He winks, sliding slowly down your body. “I ain’t going fucking easy.”

You expect no less of him. And you’d be able to make that joke, if he didn’t lick a thick stripe up your pussy and make you shriek.

“Holy fuck-“ Your eyes roll back in your head, your hands clawing at the sheets.

Ben chuckles, the sound vibrating against you, and repeats the motion. Your thighs press together, but he shoves them back open with a single hand, settling fully down.

“No hiding from me.” He mutters, breath warm over your core. “Look at you, doll. Even prettier from down here, didn’t know that was fucking possible.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Kiss ass.”

“Gets me places.” Ben kisses the inside of your thigh, sucking softly.

His beard scrapes and tickles against you, his chin pressing where you need him and his nose bumping your neglected clit.

“Ohhhh.” You close your eyes, slowly running your fingers through his hair. “Oh God, Ben-“

He hums in approval, switching to match the mark on the other side. He’s let go of your thighs to grab everywhere else, rubbing your ass, your hips, your sides. He slides a massive palm over your abdomen, pinning you to be bed. You should know that’s a warning sign, but you’re too lost in the heat of his mouth.

“Ben...” You moan freely, covering his hand with one of yours.

He flips it over, and you thread your fingers together.

Another warning.

“That’s- Fuck-“

He blows on your clit, and shivers run up your spine. You don’t think you can take being teased any longer. Not right now.

“More, Ben, more-“

A dark, promising chuckle rumbles in his chest. You crane your neck to look at him, and realize your mistake too late.

He’d been waiting for you to ask. And now that you have, he’s not holding back.

Ben shoves his face fully between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your clit and soaked pussy like a man starved, and your mouth falls in a long, silent scream.

You’ve been eaten out before, but never like this. Ben’s going at you the same way he kisses you. The same way he does everything. With everything he has, and the mindset that less is a sin. If something is worth doing, he’s not going to slack.

And your pussy is under that full focus. It’s almost too much to handle.

Ben makes out with every sensitive spot, inside and outside. He licks and tongue-fucks, letting you squeeze around him and pushing your ass up to hit a better angle. He noses at your clit while he works on your gaping, leaking hole, then switches.

Soft, slightly chapped lips wrap around your clit, sucking on you with all the power of a fucking sex toy. His tongue flicks back and forth over and over again, building you into a whining, cloudy eyed frenzy. You scratch at his scalp and pull on his hair, but it just makes him moan, and now everything is vibrating.

Everything seems to make him moan. Ben grunt every time you jerk your hips, slamming them back down and squeezing your hand. He moans when you squeeze down on his tongue, when he brings you right up to the edge then stops at the last second, so you slam his shoulders in frustration.

Sometimes he laughs. And that’s even worse. It makes his massive arms—wrapped around your hips—flex, and it goads him into working you impossibly deeper. You turn your face, pressing it into the pillows. Ben squeezes your hand, dragging your clit between his teeth before pulling away for a single second.

“Eyes.” He grunts, and your attention snaps over.

“Be- Ben-“

“Watch me, doll.” He open-mouth kisses you clit, and you whimper. “That’s right, don’t you look away for a fucking second.”

Now that you’re watching, you couldn’t if you tried.

Ben goes back to his self-assigned job, and the sight is more lewd and sinful than any porno in the world. His massive shoulders roll and flex as he moves you how he wants. You can’t see his mouth, but you can see him moving his head with his tongue on your clit. He shakes it, playing the nerve bundle like a bop-it, and you’re right back up the edge again.

And again, Ben stops.

You almost scream, and Ben chuckles. He kisses your poor, throbbing clit all sweet, then goes back to slowly working his tongue against your entrance. You’re wound too tight. You think you might snap from just the wrong breath.

“Be- Ben-“ You pull his hair, trying to get him back up to your clit. “Ben, let me cum- I- I need to cum-“

He just moans again. You’re going to kill him.

“Please, I- I can’t take it-“ You moan, trying to squirm your body further onto his face. “God, Ben, I can’t- I need it so bad, please-“

Sharp, lust-blown eyes snap to yours. You whimper, giving him your best hopeless pout. It’s the one that usually gets him to cave. He laughs and shakes his head and gives you whatever you want, grumbling affectionately about how damn impossible you are.

But this time, he just smirks against your pussy. And you might have him wrapped around your finger, but he’s got you cornered.

Take it. He’d said.

You don’t think you have a choice.

“Look at you,” Ben drawls, kissing your clit. His beard drags. You whimper, eyes locked onto his.

The sounds earns you another kiss, and it makes you squirm. With how his eyes gleam, you’re worried he’ll just keep you like this all night.

“You’re close.” He mocks, rubbing his palm against your pussy. “So close, baby doll. I can fuckin’ see it, you’re about to cry.”

You glare at him, and he just grins.

“You think I’ll give a shit? Think I don’t want to see you break for me?”

He presses his hand down harder. You go to reach for it, but Ben grabs your wrist and pins it firmly next to him on the mattress.

“No touching.” He grunts. “Mine.”

Oh, that makes you clench around nothing. After, you’re going to force him to make dinner and maybe do taxes or drive a car to earn feminism points back, but right now everything is just Ben, lying between your legs, calling you his.

And he’s staring at your pussy, almost transfixed. You moan as his thumb rubs your clit, his hand rising up so he can watch you react. You can feel yourself, gushing and fluttering. Desperate for anything he can give you. You’ll beg more, you’ll take it however he wants, you just need more.

“Christ on a fucking cross.” Ben mutters, pressing his cheek into your thigh. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of pussies, doll.”

You shoot him a look. “Romantic.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your clit between his fingers.

“Was going to say yours is the best, you fucking brat.”

You smile, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers. You’re seconds from exploding with desire, but you just want to hold him. Feel him, for only a little longer.

Something in Ben’s expression shifts. For the briefest moment, it softens. His shoulders relax, and the slow breath he lets out sounds like a release. He kisses the inside of your palm. His thumb pushing on your clit, dragging it back and forth in a steady, relieving rhythm.

But you’re too sensitive. You’re being worked back up too fast, and tears start to prick.

“Ben.” You breathe, fingers curling against his cheek. “Please.”

He smirks. There’s one last kiss on your clit, then another on your well-bruised thighs. He rises to his knees, slapping your pussy while one hand undoes his belt.

Ben chuckles, at the way you fully tremble from the hit.

“You fucking like that shit, don’t you.”

You shrug, watching his belt slide away. “Maybe.”

“You do. Can see it, you-“ He pushes two fingers back into your cunt, and you moan.

“Ben- Oooooh-“

He tosses aside his belt, spanks your clit, and grins triumphantly.

“Fucking felt that. You started pouring on me like a waterfall, you love it-“

You kick at his thigh, flushing and rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Don’t think I will.” He drawls, going back to his pants. “Think I get to talk as much as I want, baby doll. You’re the one that’s going to be fucked all damn stupid.”

You had a smart, sharp retort.

It dies when Ben pulls down his pants, and you see his cock.

Of course he’s such an arrogant, smug ass. Endowed is too weak a word. He’s blessed. He’s got the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen—thick and long in all the best ways, like it was handcrafted to give your pussy a heart attack—and with the look on his face, he fucking knows it.

“See something you like,” he grins down at you, stroking himself slowly.

“I… Um…” You lick your lips, crawling slowly up the mattress. “You’re very…”

You trail off again. You’re humping the sheets like an animal, forcing yourself not to just fucking touch yourself, but it’s impossible. He’s too… everything.

Ben laughs, prowling up over you.

“You’re fucking drooling.”

“You’re pretty.”

“I am not fucking pretty.”

“You are.” You roll your eyes, letting Ben drag you onto your back. “You’re so pretty, Ben, it’s bonkers.”

He grunts, settling himself above you. “Pretty is what you call a fucking show pony.”

“You are a show pony.”

That earns you a glower. You beam back in return, giggling at your own jokes.

“When we’re done, you should let me braid your- Oh my God-“

You grab at his shoulder, eyes going wide as Ben slides his cock into you with one, smooth movement. He drives right into your g-spot, dropping his hips so he’s pinning you into it. He grinds down, abs rubbing on your clit, and there it is.

That coil that had been building in you all night. Ben gets inside of you for ten seconds, and you snap.

You writhe and scramble under him, grabbing at his chest and trying to hide from the overwhelming orgasm ripping through your body. Ben grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, still grinding down onto you as it drags on. You whimper, making garbled sounds of his name.

Ben kisses you, as you twitch through the last bits of it. You turn to limp putty, moaning into his mouth and shivering as he settles at being bottomed out.

“That’s what I wanted to see.” He mutters, nipping at your upper lip. “That’s what I fucking dreamed about.”

You whimper, and Ben laughs. He gives you a shallow thrust, and your eyes go wide.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, baby.” He teases, ghost his lips over yours. “We got a lot of fucking time to make up for, and you,” he gives another, sharper slam of his hips. “Are too fucking gorgeous to just give one orgasm.”

A strangled sound escapes your lips, and Ben grins.

“I know. But feel that,” he pulls all the way out, then slams back in. “Real good, isn’t it. Fuck, this pussy was made for me. Going to fuck you until my name is written on it, until it can’t even take anyone else.”

His logic is flawed, but you still moan. Hard not to, when you’ve got all the mass and power of him over you, driving in and out of you at a torturously slow pace.

“That’s my girl.” He coos, bumping your nose before going for a hot, sloppy kiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ cock slut for me, aren’t you.”

Your eyes fly open, your pussy clenching down, and Ben laughs. He starts to drill into you, knocking every bit of air from your lungs.

“Yeah, I know how you like it. My dirty baby, get off of me telling you that I own you,” he slams down, and tears burn at your eyes. “That I’m going to fucking wreck you, turn you into my fuck doll, my sweet little fucking whore.”

You moan, the shame only making the heat in your tummy build faster. Ben rises over you, hair pressed to his brow from sweat.

“That’s right. Take it, take this cock and thank me for it.”

He slides his thumb over your lips, pressing down ever so slightly as his cock fucks ruthlessly in and out of your pussy. You mewl, opening your mouth for him to take. Ben laughs, thick and breathless, and pushes his thumb in.

“Fucking- Christ-“ He groans as you start to suck. “You’re so fucking beautiful, and- Tight-“

He groans, fucking impossibly harder. The bed squeaks and shifts. You moan around his thumb, tears flowing down your cheeks.

“Crying for me, baby doll, so fucking desperate you’re going to cry for it- Shit-“

Your second orgasm hits suddenly. You clench down on Ben, making him groan loudly. His chest is tight with restraint, and you scratch at the muscle, whining around his thumb.

It’s so much. Too much. You’re stuffed so full, and you can barely breathe, and it’s perfect but you don’t know what to do with yourself but sob and moan.

“There you go, so tight and warm.” Ben’s babbling. You think he’s lost himself as much as you have. “Fuck, you’re going to be death of me if you keep lookin’ like that, gotta-“

You squeak as Ben pulls his thumb and cock out with wet sounds. There’s no time to protest the loss, though, before you’re being flipped onto your stomach and fucked within and inch of your life.

Ben drags your ass in the air, barely giving you a second to recover before he’s back to railing you into the mattress. You cum even faster this time, between the filthy words and deeper position.

“Greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she.” Ben grunts in your ear, his chest draped over your back. “You love it, fucking love being marked up and fucked like an animal. You fucking slut, bet that pretty mouth needs something to suck on again. Be you’ll look so pretty choking on my dick, to bad you look even fuckin’ better like this.”

You cum again with Ben’s thumb in your mouth, tears on your cheeks, and his body wrapped around yours. Then a third time, when he rises up and plays with your ass, shoving your head into the mattress to watch you cry and try to wiggle back on his cock.

After a while, you lose track of what position your in. You’re over him, then under, then pressed against the headboard and folded in half. You don’t know how he’s held himself off this long. You’re a boneless, oversensitive puddle made of countless orgasms, by the time Ben starts to rut and groan.

Ben finishes inside you, holding you firmly above him as his hips jerk up. You watch him come apart under dazed, tear-stained lashes. It’s the most beautiful sight in the world. He’s pumping into you, hot and jerking, dripping out of your pussy as just more and more comes. A wet sound fills the air, and you can see his own release stained over his abdomen as he just keeps going.

You think you pass out, after. You must, because when you come too, you’re lying on clean sheets and wearing Ben’s shirt. You stare at the ceiling for a while, still partially lost to the world.

You come back to earth, when Ben says your name. He’s coming out of the shower, bare-chested and glorious.

He gives you that small smile, and you return it without a thought.

“Feeling alright?” He mutters, climbing into bed at your side.

No pants. Unhelpful.

“Um-“ You stare at his cock, swinging between his thighs. Your mouth is watering. “You…”

“Jesus, woman.” He snorts. “I’m not trying to fucking break you, stop slobbering.”

“I am not slobbering-“

“Yeah, you fucking are.”

You stick your tongue out and try to roll away, but Ben’s right. He worked you. One movement comes with a whine, and suddenly you’re being pinned below Ben’s bare body.

“Rest.” He scolds, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not my boss-“

“Yeah, but I love you, and I’m going to be real damn pissed if you hurt yourself.” He taps your jaw. “Rest.”

You blink at him.

And again, Ben just finds a way to make you feel more full.

“You love me?” You whisper.

He blinks. You don’t think he knows he said it.

“Of course I do-“

“Say it.”

He scowls. “You heard it, means I said it-“

“Say it again.” You give him that look. The pouty one.

This time, it’s going to work.

“Please?” You add.

Ben sighs, shaking his head, and glares at you like you’re the bane of his existence.

You might be. But he likes it, and he’s the one who’s going to be keeping you at the center of his universe.

“I love you.” He grunts.

You beam, and Ben kisses you with a labored sigh. It’s slow. Romantic.

Meant to remind you that you have time.

“Good boy.” You whisper, and he groans.

“You’re real lucky-“

“Yeah.” You cut him off, and he lets you.

He always lets you. Because he loves you.

“I am.”

✦End note: i dont care what he does in the show this is my emotional support old horny man✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

The brothers exchanged a quick glance before Dean pushed himself to his feet, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he followed you down the hall.

He’d been cleaning his guns for the last hour. You were on the bed opposite him, resting against the headboard, a book propped in your lap.

At least, that was the story.

To him, it looked like you were reading. But really, your eyes kept drifting—to his hands, his fingers, the way his forearms flexed with every precise movement as he assembled the weapon.

Your gaze lingered on the way his fingers fit around the slide, how his muscles tensed just so. You weren’t reading a single word.

“Good book?” he asked suddenly.

You looked up, startled, caught like a deer in headlights.

He smirked, nodding toward you. “You’re biting your lip,” he pointed out, tapping the corner of his own mouth. “Must be a real sexy book.”

You blinked, heat creeping up your neck. “Yep,” you muttered, eyes dropping back to the page as he smoothly pulled back the slide. “Definitely sexy.”

You turned the page—more to save face than to keep reading.

You and the brothers were sitting in the war room, trying to come up with a plan. A demon had been targeting strippers at a local club, and things weren’t exactly straightforward.

You’d suggested going undercover—but the boys weren’t convinced. Dean, especially, didn’t think you could handle it. So naturally, you decided to prove him wrong.

You stood in front of him, your knee propped on the chair between his legs, tilting his face up with a finger under his chin. “You don’t think I can handle it?” you asked, your voice low and challenging.

Dean’s eyes stayed locked on yours, a little wider now. “No, I… I, uh… I think you…” You leaned in, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw.

“I can handle it. Right, Dean?” you nodded slowly. He nodded too—dazed, obedient.

Then you leaned even closer, giving him a generous view down your shirt. “Good boy,” you purred. Dean blinked. You stepped back, straightening up and turning to face both brothers. “See? I can do it.”

Dean looked helplessly at Sam—who was failing miserably at hiding his laughter. Wordless, Dean grabbed a bottle of water from the table, tipped it back, and then poured some straight onto his face.

“That’s one way to take a cold shower,” Sam muttered, smirking.

Dean and Sam were away on a hunt, leaving you behind to guard the bunker. You didn’t mind—tonight was all blankets, books, and peace.

Curled up in bed with one of Dean’s flannels draped over you, the room was quiet and still.

So when your phone rang, the sudden sound made you jump.

You checked the caller ID and smiled when you saw Dean’s name.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice rumbled through the speaker.

“Hey, baby. How’s the hunt going?”

“We just wrapped it up. Should be back tomorrow. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Just reading a book in bed.”

“In bed, huh? What are you wearing?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Really, Dean?”

“Humor me.”

You glanced down. “One of your shirts.”

Dean groaned softly. “You miss me that much, huh?” You heard the smirk in his voice. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. When I get home, I’m gonna show you how much I missed you. Not lettin’ you outta my sight. Gonna kiss every inch of that pretty skin ‘til you’re makin’ those sounds I like. Gonna take my time with you... have you beggin’ for more... can’t wait to be ins—”

“Dean! I got the food!” Sam’s voice shouted in the background.

Dean cleared his throat—fast. “Okay, love you, see you tomorrow!” Click.

You stared at your phone.

Did you seriously just get cockblocked by Sam?

“That sounds like a you problem”

Dean groaned dramatically like you’d deeply wounded him “Wow. Cold”

You snorted and pulled your plate farther away.

That only encouraged him.

Next thing you knew, Dean was literally leaning across the table trying to snatch a fry while you blocked him with your arm, laughing.

“Stop stealing my food!”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart”

“I already shared enough. You are robbing me now”

Dean managed to steal another fry and looked at you with a triumphant grin.

You narrow your eyes at him “You’re annoying”

“You love me anyway” He says smugly.

You snort “Questionable choice on my part”

Dean grinned lazily, green eyes bright with amusement. Then, because apparently annoying you was like a hobby to him, he reached for one of your onion rings.

You slapped his hand again “Seriously, why do you always think you’re entitled to my food?”

Dean scoffed dramatically like the answer was obvious.

“‘Cause I’m your boyfriend” He said easily, chewing “It’s literally my right”

Silence.

Dean blinked, and then his eyes widened a bit when realization hit him.

Oh.

Oh, he said it out loud.

You two had never really cared much about labels. You were together. Committed. You both knew exactly what you were to each other, and everyone around you two knew it too. There was never any doubt about that. But neither of you really said words like ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’.

Until now that he said it.

You blinked back at him. Then slowly, your mouth turned into a playful grin.

“Did you just use the b word?”

Dean immediately got flustered. Not dramatically, but enough that the tips of his ears turned red while he grabbed his beer and tried very hard to look casual.

“No”

“You did” You chuckle “Boyfriend”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically “Yeah, alright” He grumbled “What about it?”

“You’ve never called yourself that before”

“Okay, first of all” He said “You’re enjoying this way too much” He points a finger at you defensively.

“A little” You say with a soft laugh “I mean, you called yourself my boyfriend” You repeat with a grin.

“Because I am” He said back instantly “We’ve been exclusive since forever, you live in my bunker, you ride shotgun in my Baby. I’m just stating facts here. Don't make it weird"

“I’m not making it weird” You laughed “I just think it was cute”

“It’s not cute”

“You said it so naturally too” You grin.

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

“Look, I’m regularly risking my life for you and driving you around while you criticize my music choices…”

“I do not criticize your music choices”

“…So I think I’ve earned my boyfriend status” He finished.

“Mhm” You laughed again before adding teasingly “So should I start looking for matching outfits now?”

“Shut up” Dean groaned immediately.

“You started this, boyfriend”

He suddenly grabbed your wrist, tugged you closer and kissed you to shut you up.

You let out a muffled laugh against his lips.

“Conversation’s over” He muttered against your mouth.

When he pulled away slightly, you were still grinning.

Dean narrowed his eyes “You’re annoying”

“And you’re my boyfriend” You repeated with a grin yet again.

He groaned dramatically.

“I’m never saying words again”